"Emmaline," I barked, kneeling down to rip a piece of parchment off one of the dead servants, wiping away the blood ebbing from my arm before wrapping the stained cloth about my hand gripping the power sword. Clara was on her side, doing her best to sit up but clearly favoring the left side of her body. To my lover's credit, she was up and ready, blue eyes sharp as sapphire stones. I bled freely on the floor, ignoring my own predicament. There was a loud crash as the door was struck by something immense, like the gauntlet of a post-human encased in Mark IV armor.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any psychic energy left?" I asked her.

She looked almost bemused, but saw my expression was hard, and she followed suit. "Some. I can make do."

"Us it on me." I ordered.

"What?" She asked, incredulity rising in her voice. Another blow struck the reinforced door, the blow sending a screw through the air to ricochet off a pillar like a bullet, flying into the bowels of the ship.

"He will break through that door in a matter of moments." I remarked, stripping off my jacket, letting it slide through my deactivated blade to fall to the floor. My black top was ripped, but it hugged my torso like a bodyglove. I was dirty, and bleeding. "You will launch me at him with all of your power, and I will kill him." I saw her begin to protest, but I reiterated. "All your power. Even impaled and weakened, he can move too fast for normal men. I need to fly at him like a bullet."

"And you think because you struck me earlier that I wish for you to throw your life away? That I can't understand that was to keep us both alive? I'm not a child." She said. I could tell she was attempting to get me to rethink my strategy, using any means to do so. I could see she wanted to find a way for us to win without this. I loved her for that. However, now was not the time.

"No, I know you are an adult, and I trust you enough as a confidant for that to be a nonissue. I also trust you to see what I ask to be done." I told her, before turning around to face the plasteel door, readying my sword. "Now are you ready to do what I say or shall I find someone who will?"

She giggled manically, caught between her pride and her feelings, and the ridiculousness of finding another psyker at a moment's notice. "As you wish, Inquisitor Drakos." I felt the subtle emanations of the warp coalescing around my person, keeping free of my sword hand. My body grew lighter, and I bent my knees to better prepare myself as the next blow wrenched the door, the plasteel now misshapen. One more blow would do it. I made a note not to look back at Emmaline, or either of our convictions might fail. Cold, malicious laughter erupted from within the ruined room, and the sound of ceramite on plasteel erupted as the chaos astartes struck again. I saw the door fall, the hulking figure bloom into view. The final strike was like the gong to begin a race for trainees, and Emmaline did her part. Even before the plasteel slabs had hit the floor, my body was thrown like a javelin, my years of hard training and labor counting for naught at all, my flesh like so much pulp against the plasteel and ceramite I hurtled towards. My sword was activated before I even knew I did pressed the activation button, and in the span it took for Clara to blink, I was passed the astartes, my glowing sword fading into the dusty gloom with my form.

"What was that?" The Chaos marine cackled, glancing behind him, before turning back to the two women with amusement. "Did you think to kill me with a human missile?"

The word missile ended in a small gurgle, as the Chaos marine stumbled, and gasped. For the first time in millennia, he seemed confused. Idly he reached up with his arm, only for the appendage to fall off, severed, along with his left shoulder and the entirety of his collarbone. Three hundred kilos of flesh, steel, and ceramite hit the floor like an anvil, before the rest of the astartes followed moments later, topping onto the floor of the ship. The red glow of its eyes fading into nothingness as the last wheeze escaped his lips, and the only noise was the humming of the ship itself.

Clara coughed, and it was what brought Emmaline out of her trance. The aide took one step, and then ran into the room, not even looking at the chaos marine to find her Inquisitor and lover, hoping he was not paste against the wall.

Hadrian was crumpled at the back of the room his power sword fizzling as it melted the fibrous carpet that it lay upon. Coils of smoke trailed upwards and stung my nostrils, somehow overpowering the stench of dead men, food, and the actinic salt smell of the Warp. I am not a telekine by training or inclination and I lack finesse. Hadrian had been hurled down the length of the mess tables, smashed the ornate chair at the head, and shattered a wooden and plastec bar which was currently leaking alcohol from a dozen broken bottles.

Most of the officers who had been using the mess were already dead. Some we had killed during our frantic flight, others when the Chaos Marine had punched through the ceiling. A few still whimpered or cowered in corners, overwhelmed by the psychic backwash or the simple trauma of seeing the Archenemy of Mankind. They didn’t have long to suffer. Clara moved along the line, putting a las round into the brain case of each officer living or dead. I wasn’t sure if that was strategic or simply a different way of dealing with the trauma, either way I didn’t try to stop her.

“Hadrian!” I gasped leaning down and touching his forehead to feel his thready pulse. He was alive, though I suspected he had suffered a serious concussion when he had crashed into the wall. I was no medicae but I knew he was going to need medical attention and soon.

“Emma!” I turned to see Clara staring at the body of the chaos marine. The baroque armor seemed to be running as though the metal itself were molten. The golden filigree forming grotesque tendrils that reached out for the severed section like the fingers of a dying man. Where the tendrils slid over the carpet the fibers warped and changed, becoming tiny fingerlike tentacles that beat at the armor like cilia. For a horrifying moment I thought that the marine was going to knit himself back together before, with a chillingly organic shudder the tendrils went slack and the luster went out of them. I watched in abject fascination as the armor seemed to darken, not all at once but in mottling that almost seemed to form. I wrenched my eyes away from the dissolution before the warp sigils that seemed to drip from the shattered power armor could ensnare my mind. I cast a quick glance at Clara but she was already backing away and making the half aquila with the hand not holding her las carbine.

“The Emperor Protects,” she hissed fervently. I was less certain but this was hardly the time for a theological debate. Alarm claxons were hooting out in the hall way and probably throughout the entire ship and I could hear confused shouting and the thump of boots coming from somewhere.

“Clara, grab Hadrian,” I instructed then reached out with my will. The long table flexed and lifted up to the hole in the roof like a grasping hand, shedding bloodied table cloth, bodies and ruined food in a fragrant shower. A wave of weakness swept through me and the tiny carpet tentacles gave up their quest for the armor and stretched out in a vain effort to reach me. I was too tired for this, but there was no option other than to go forward. Plucking a naval revolver from the holster of one of the dead officers I clambered up the table back into the chambers which had belonged to the late an unlamented Inquisitor Vorn.

The stink of death was heavy on the air by then. Clara clambered up behind me dragging Hadrian up the improvised ramp. Vorn and his companions lay where we had left them, distinguished only by spreading pools of blood and the inhuman red footprints the departed traitor marine had left. I hurried back into what I rightly presumed was Vorn’s private quarters. It didn’t look like the lair of some great heretic. There were bookshelves, art and archeotech from several Imperial traditions, even a small shrine to Him on Earth. Not for the first time I wondered how deep Vorn’s insanity had gone. Had he really believed he was a loyal servant of the Emperor while he hosted a traitor Astartes on his ship?

“Emmaline, what is the plan?” Clara demanded as she lay Hadrian down by the door. He was murmuring to himself, though whether with any cognisance of his surroundings or merely in delirium there was no time to ascertain. I pulled a large duffle bag from a nearby couch and upended it, scattering weapons and clothing all about, then went over to Vorn’s desk and began piling the contents into the canvas sack. There were data slates, books, scrolls and even several small stone tablets marked with odd xenos derived symbols.

“We don’t have time for this,” Clara called as I finished my improvised looting.

“We will never get another chance!” I replied.

“You are both right,” a silky voice came from the door. To my horror the previously empty portal had manifested the Aldarei warrior we had encountered earlier. His head was bare but the rest of him was encased in dark glossy armor that seemed entirely composed of blades and hooks. I idly wondered how he managed to avoid getting snagged on everything he passed but the thought was banished as he raised a long thin rifle to aim at me. Clara opened up on full auto, raining las bolts on the xenos in a single extended fusilade. It moved so fast. It didn’t blur, it just seemed to phase in and out of existence. I had a confused recollection of a lasbolt striking its weapon and then a moment later it held two long knives in it’s hands. Rather belatedly I brought up my own heavy pistol and began to unload cacking out the hard rounds in the rapid crack-crack-crack of panic fire. When the hammer clicked on an empty chamber the Aldaeri was still standing there, looking for all the world as though he hadn’t just waded through a storm of gunfire.
“Now it is time to play Mon-keigh,” it purred.

“You want to play?” Clara demanded, “catch.” She threw a grenade at the creature. I saw its lips curve as it lazily reached out and plucked the bomb from the air. With a flick of it’s wrist it tossed the grenade back. Or it tried to. A look of shock came across its face as it finished the throwing gesture only to find the bomb had adhered to its jointed gauntlet. I had just enough time to comprehend that Clara had smeared demolition adhesive across the grenade before she threw it before Clara crash tackled me behind the desk. A heartbeat later there was a flash and a tremendous crump of detonation and overpressure. I rolled onto my back and popped my head up in time to see the xenos, horribly burned and blackened tearing at its armor. White smoke and little motes of fire drifted around and the chemical stink stung the back of my throat like inhaling embers. Clara slapped her last powercell into her carbine and worked the charging handle back and forth with what seemed to me like infinite effort but the Aldaeri had already vanished, fleeing blindly as hundreds of flecks of phosphorus burned into its body. I know it is an article of faith that burning Xenos always smells sweet but on this point too I will have to deviate from doctrine.

The Even Chance crashed out of the Immaterium on the back of the psychic spike that left its Navigator unconscious. The Caledonia followed it a few minutes later, trailing out of warp with its ancient engines burning at full output. Lance fire and macrocannon batteries opened up, pouring fire into the traders engines. The Even Chance returned fire, but slowly, the sudden drop from the warp had wrought havoc aboard the ship, striking many crew insensible. The problem was further compounded by the fact that we had managed to kill most of the senior officers during our frantic battle in the mess haul. So it was that an hour later the Caledonia’s boarding party was able to fight it’s way to us and pull us back to our own ship.

I regained consciousness relatively quickly onboard the Caledonia. I had thought this time, death would have surely taken me. I had seen the spectre, felt its ghaslty presence on my person. Somehow it felt familiar, as if I had come close to meeting it many times before. Something tangible but only just at the edge of my realization. My thoughts came back, not like a flood or a breathe of fresh air, but a bullet being placed in the chamber. I opened my eyes to see that I was not placed in the medicae, but I was on a small cot on the floor, with Selencia's back turned to me and Emmaline on her knees beside me, her hand holding mine. I decided I had become injured far too often as of late, but when my eyes saw my lover, I became aware that I was once again, simply glad it had not been her.

"Inquisitor," Lazarus stated in a formal greeting, but I could tell the old codger was as happy to see me as I was, him.

Selencia turned around as Emmaline blinked and looked down at my face. I could tell by her eyes there was a modicum of guilt, but our minds brushed for an instant and I bade her leave those thoughts. Instead, I attempted to sit up, only for Selencia to hold me down with a firm hand, ready to scold me. Begrudgingly, I did so, but that did not mean I would be coddled.

"Report," I said simply, some of my old strength returning.

Emmaline reverted to business quickly. "The Even Chance has been subdued. All men and women aboard are being rounded up as we speak. The Caledonia breached and boarded its stern." She said, her eyes barely flickering as she recited the words, as if she held a mental notepad in her mind. "Small pockets of resistance are still holding out aboard, but we are culling them as we speak. The men of the Caledonia have been reinforced with some of Even Chance's men who were kept in the dark, as well as Lucius."

"Clara?" I inquired.

"Better off than you." She remarked with a small smile.

I pondered the predicament. The Inquisitor Vorn was well connected. It would behoove us to retrieve any documents we might find aboard his vessel. Yet, he had summoned daemons, had entertained a heretic astartes, and had broken bread with a devious drukhari. His men were corrupted, and though there was doubtless more than a few of the lower crew that were innocent, they would have to be cordoned off and purified. I briefly ran the previous few months through my head, and felt satisfied that Vorn was the root of this ruinous cell. As Selencia placed a needle in my arm, my eyes went from Emmaline to Lazarus.

"Find what innocents of their crew that you can. But do not look for more than a few hours. Pull the men back, and sabotage the Even Chance's batteries and warp capabilities. Once we are at a safe distant, have Urien obliterate the ship with enough ordnance that their souls go screaming into the maws of their Gods they are so devoted to. I intend to be on the deck when we do."

My team did so, and Selencia did her duty. By the time the fighting had stopped, I had been granted full leave to stand, albeit with limited permission to run or turn quickly. With Lazarus's help, I made it to the Bridge of the Caledonia as Urien and the others gathered. The fuedal worlder sported a few more scars and fresh bandaged, but otherwise he was as fearsome as ever. Emmaline wore her bodyglove and jacket, her needle pistol reacquired on her person. Lucious Raj was even there, filling out a three meter wide space between the cogitators and the warp display. As I approached, he chuckled, his baritone voice shuddering beneath his visor.

"I hear you and your lady had more action than I did, Inquisitor. I had been waiting to face one of my little brothers, but you slew him before I could get there. Impressive." The Thunder Warrior confessed. "Perhaps an 'astartes' is not as formidable as I have been lead to believe."

"Unfortunately, I am certain you will eventually learn." I replied back to him. While this investigation was now over, I had no doubt in my mind that sooner rather than later, we would again be in a situation of similar dangers.

"Captain! Lance batteries and macrocannons primed!" The Master Helmsman's aide called, and Urien looked to me for confirmation. Without hesitating, I gave it. Thousands of tons of ordnance and great beams of concentrated energy cut through the crippled ship, bisecting it to split in half like a cracked walnut, and even as we watched on the holomonitor above us, it broke into further pieces, silently drifting apart into the endless void of space.

993.M42

Primary Ecchlesiarcical Court- Palace of the High Prelate - Savaven

Accession 1322997 - After Action Interrogation - Session 121

Convened under authority of Grand General Amadeo Priscus

Attendance: Ophelia Sands - Inquisitorial Legate, Prodogus Kamand - Interrogator, Mordin Riel - Interrogator, Bodkin Obain - Interrogator, Subject 122-K-A6 - Sanctioned Psyker

Subject: Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern - Adept Delta, Accession above.



Transcript begins.

Obain: Miss von Morganstern, can you confirm for the court that you are connected to a A-26 Verity Assayer unit for the purposes of this interview.

Subject: Yes.

Obain: You realize the purpose of this unit is to determine via psychic and physiological traces that you are speaking the truth?

Subject: Yes.

Obain: Are you aware of anyway to defeat such an instrument.

Subject: Yes.

Obain: Are you employing such a technique?

Subject: No.

Obain: Would you tell us if you were?

Subject: Yes.

Remarks from Inquisitorial Legate removed from transcript

Obain: Let us proceed. Members of the inquiry have reviewed your report on the destruction of the Even Chance and the events leading up to it. Is there anything in the reports that is counterfactual?

Subject: No.

Obain: Was anything omitted from the reports which would be of relevance to you personally or professionally?

Subject: No.

Obain: And you maintain that you have surrendered all materials and documents captured aboard the Even Chance?

Subject: Yes.

Mordin : Are you aware that your single word answers might be considered obstructive.

Subject: Yes Interrogator.

Obain: Are you pursuing an inappropriate relationship with Inquisitor Hadrian Drakos?

Subject: No.

Legate: Tell us again from the beginning how...

___

We spent nearly a year on Savaven. Most people assume the life of an Inquisitor is all running around purging heretics at the point of a bolt gun. That is part of it of course, more glamorous and terrifying than months spent working through documents, prosecuting lower level members of cults, evaluating institutions, and trying to repair the damage done by more kinetic investigations. There was a lot to do. Osteen Von Mandlebrot was installed as High Prelate and Hadrian began an exhaustive review of the Church Hierarchy. The Ecclesiarchy was reluctant to allow this and fought the process at every step short of violence. We were able to recover the scrolls of compulsion and against my advice Hadrian had them destroyed. The destruction the Even Chance had wrought in the orbital anchorage would take years to repair, though the new High Prelate promised that the cathedral city would rise higher and grander than ever it had before. The bodies of those killed in the holocaust were gathered and their bones laid in great ossuary temples. Von Mandlebrot declared them the Ten Thousand Matyrs and initiated a pilgrimage program across the subsector. Doubtlessly the people felt this to be spiritually uplifting rather than dismissing it as a cynical scheme to pay for reconstruction.

Of Vorn's motives and purposes we found little. All records indicated he had been an exemplary Inquisitor, very highly regarded in certain circles. Every account of him we could find clashed violently with our own experience of his activity. A few months into our stay the Office of the Internal Prosecutions took over the case and sequestered everything we had gathered on him. I continued to pull at some of the threads but they seemed to have all been wound up. Needless to say Hadrian was suspicious but there seemed to be no avenues to continue the investigation. It sat very ill with me that despite everything so many questions remained. What had Vorn been trying to accomplish. How had he gotten in touch with the Traitor Legions? Why had they supported him? What role had the Aldarei warrior played in their scheme? All of these seemed destined to remain unanswered.

I was interrogated several times about my role in the affair. I'm not sure whether this was a result of reports Hadrian had submitted, or merely the suspicion that Internal Prosecutions inevitably holds for the unsanctioned. I gave them nothing. It is possible they knew I was concealing information but they were unable to prove it. I began an extensive survey of the libraries of Savaven, mostly pious hagiography, though there were some excellent historical works also. I made certain to vary my searches to as not to present an obvious pattern to anyone who might be looking.

It was something of a strain. Whenever an Inquisitor is revealed to have crossed a line it forces the Ordos to confront he ugly truth that those who fight Chaos are at the greatest risk of contamination by it. Internal Prosecutions had no reason to suspect Hadrian, he was a hero for exposing Vorn, but they did tend to try to bolt the door now that the grox had well and truly bolted. There was definite relief when in early 993, a few weeks after Candlemas, Hadrian declared that matters had been resolved to his satisfaction and all further work was to be devolved onto local Arbites and Ecclesiarical authority. After nearly three years chasing Vorn, we were going home.

Our time in Savaven had been full of research and unrelenting legalities, and I spent most of my time behind a desk or surveying the monumental libraries that stood bestride the palaces of the cardinals. It was mostly uneventful, save for handful of moments the various members and adepts of the ecclesiarchy tried to jealously keep certain vaults out of the hands of my retinue, but in that I brooked very little argument. Emmaline and I worked alongside one another for some months, her eye for detail impressive, though after a few hours she often found herself thinking of less professional matters or wishing to stretch her legs. When she heard Savaven did not have any icecream she groaned. I admit the distraction did help my mind relax before I redirected my focus back on the ministerial task at hand. However, four months before our completing, there had been a misshap on the bridge of the Caledonia, where Lucius Raj had broken the leg of one crewman and shattered the sternum of another, and Emmaline was tasked with ascending to keep an eye on the Thunder Warrior while I finished my work on world.

I could have called Lucius Raj down, but the ecclesiarchy would ask too many questions on the nature of him, and if they found out we had procured one of the legendary thunder warriors from a xenos cage, we would have more problems to deal with than the usual liturgical interruptions. And while I could throw my weight around, it was an inquisitor's duty to only do so for the good of the imperium, not their emotional desires. Although we did manage to obtain, or stumble upon, some scraps of information about the enigmatic warriors of old terra. It seemed they died quickly, usually for one of three reasons. Combat, of course, but also faulty organs from the less-than-safe flash cloning initiatives in their primitive creation, and thirdly, their bouts of insanity could literally tear their own muscles apart. It seemed, given luck that Raj could survive battle and be one of the more fortunate with a stable body, if we could keep his sanity in check, he could potentially live for quite a long time. And so for four months, Lazarus and I spent nearly eleven hours every day pouring over different texts and scripts, until finally I concluded we had gathered all intelligence that we could.

Finally, we could return to Pacitus.

As Lazarus, a few member's of Urien's crew, and I ascended to the Caledonia, I felt somewhat uneasy, despite my through examination. There were so many unanswered questions, I knew it would be difficult to unwind. However, I had a feeling Emmaline would find a way to get me too, despite my dogged thoughts. Once we entered through the bridge, I gave a quick chat to Urien, and he was ecstatic to be sending me home. As good friends as we are, he felt a need to explore the stars as much as I needed to feel Pacitus under my feet. I saluted him as a cordial gesture, as he would throw a celebration soon to liven up his crew, thanks to new supplies gifted by the ecclesiarchy from Savaven.

I went to my quarters to retire, a near kilometer of a walk, remembering when I had escorted a very drunk Emmaline down the same course not so long ago. I stripped my hands of my gloves, and opened the door to my chambers...

One month later...

We had arrived on Pacitus a week earlier, having granted ourselves a few days to recuperate at the Agesola estate. I needed to speak with Demetrius and inform the rest of the staff of the unclassified aspects of our mission, at least regarding the death of Samara to ease their minds, for they had once been well acquainted. We held a small funerary service two days after arrival, placing the necklace I had taken from her body in the ground. However, other than that sombre occasion and my inability to turn my mind off from orchestrating activities around the manor, it was quite pleasant. The day after the service, I took Emmaline to Primogena, knowing she was ecstatic to go shopping at the capital. Though the real treat was yet to come, as she well knew.

Clara and Selencia were both relieved to be home. While both had volunteered to accompany us on our mission and neither had suffered worse than a few scrapes and bruises, both were tempered and even somewhat disturbed by their experiences, and after careful observation and a few tests, I deemed what they really needed was time at home to relax and cope. Emmaline, though she was as effected as anyone during the heat of the moment, was surprisingly resilient and able to bounce back from her experiences with an endurance that outmatched even a few inquisitors. Despite her exposure to such things as facing down a chaos astartes and the taint of the warp, she had the same vibrant look in her eyes when she saw a dress she fancied or a piece of jewelry she gleefully asked I purchase for her. We spent the day visiting eateries, antique shops, the lush botanical gardens, and miles upon miles of shopping lanes.

Lazarus and Lucius Raj spent their days with their usual stoicism, grinding away the hours of meditation, drills, and the study of various subjects. The former skitarii and I had finished refitting our lander with an autocannon of some size, overlapping plates of plasteel along the wings that would increase its aerodynamics, as well as finalizing the preparations to install the new engine. I had also decided to teach Lucius to read, as the current gothic was somewhat different in grammatical practice than back in his day, but we did not get too far into our lessons before our planned trip had arrived.

After a week of relaxation, our train had arrived. Emmaline and I were set to go on a honeymoon of sorts, an extended trip that lasted a fortnight, taking the luxury speed train on a trip called the Amalthea Zephyr. It was a romantic roundabout of the continent, that moved astride the glittering Amaranthine Sea, arriving at Malandor for a day, then traveling past the verdant farmlands of Lacadai and arriving north to the snow covered mountains of Kalydon, before turning east through the pine forests of the wilderness and the city of Idalium, before arcing southwards through the jeweled cities before arriving once again at Primogena. Emmaline had spent a multiple hours at Primogena shopping for outfits for the trip, and I admit I had purchased a few suits for myself. I had purchased a VIP ticket to meet the planetary governor at Idalium after a day of skiing at Idalium.

Demetrius and his staff had helped us remember all of our effects, but there had been little to forget. We had only just arrived back, half of our essentials were simply moved from one bag to another. Clara offered to accompany us, but I denied her. I could tell she simply wished to show me she was not remiss in her duties, but I felt she needed some more time at home. Carefully, I packed my autogun and brought my ornamental pallasch, more for show than any feeling I would use it. Surprisingly, Lazarus took me aside before we stepped out and informed me the tech-priest had managed to grant the weapon a limited power field, just in case.

"Have fun, master Drakos, lady Von Morganstern." Demetrius Richter said, his kindly face spread in a smile. The other staff had gathered out of the house to bid us farewell. The sun was setting on the horizon, as the train was set to disembark at midnight. Clara and Selencia and Lazarus had all come out to bid us farewell, though Lucius wisely stayed out of sight. Emmaline informed me he was doing better with his breathing exercises. As long as he experienced nothing stringent, he should be fine until our return in two weeks time.

Our aircar awaited, the driver patient as he was being paid by the hour, and it was a two hour drive to Primogena. I wore a finely tailor jacket and pressed trousers, setting our bags in the back of the aircar as Emmaline waved goodbye to the others. I closed the back of the trunk, and gave a smile to my lover. "We ready?"

The Amalthea Zephyr was impressive. I had seen great cathedrals and mighty starships of course, but both of those things were built for simple and brutal purposes. The Zephyr was not brutal. The engine was over fifty meters long and half that thick, a great blunt nosed wedge of ivory and bright brass, studded with observation turrents, smoke stacks, and vox antenaes worked to look like saints holding aloft scrolls of Imperial wisdom. The cars it pulled were scarecelly less ornate, twenty of them, each thirty meters long and lined with armorcys that was opaque from without, but so clear from the inner side as to seem open air. The advertisments claimed that every amenity was to be found on board: Three restuarants, gambling tables, gaming of all kinds, massage parlors, even an indoor sports arena.

It was said that any pleasure you could imagine was available about the Zephyr, and pleasures you couldn't would be provided upon request.

The platform was already crowded with people looking to explore those very pleasures. Some of them were nobles, whose retinues kept the crowds back with staves or ceremonial two handed swords. Others were bussiness people, ship captains, guilders who were springing for a few days of luxury before heading back to their important lives, distinguished by bussiness suits or gowns cut to some imitation of court fashion. Some were on honeymoons, or simply well to do commoners who had saved to experience the trip of a lifetime. All were presenting carved ivory tickets which were themselves a work of art while the great locomotive took on water for its powerplant from thick hoses that fed into it like tentacles emerging from a cephalopod.

Luggage flowed into the belly of the beast on guilded servitors, each artfully wrought to resemble a beast of burden in silver and onyx. Our own luggage had already been collected, Hadrian having been compelled to pay extra for the security of unsearched baggage given the nature of some of our possessions. These would be kept in the void shielded cargo bellies of the cars. Ledgend had it that more than one heist had been attempted, the value of so many wealthy patrons personal effects being beyond easy calculation, but those ledgends assured customers that those attempts had been repulsed bloodily by state of the art combat servitors engaged for the purpose.

I stepped out of the air car dressed in my finiest. My finest in this case being a black dress that fell clingingly to my hips before dropping to the ground with a side slit which revealed black lace stockings of surpassing quality. A ring of static charge kept the hem of the dress from every quite touching the ground, giving me the appearance of gliding. Nor was that the only surprise the dress held. It's midnight black silk was microslited over a peralescent white under fabric, so that when the fabric pulled tight over my body the slits tended to open making me appear to shimmer with emphasising starlight. I had ice diamonds and neck and wrist and a rather unncessary cumberbund of white shimmer silk around my waist. The entire ensemble was finished with a coronet of wrought silver from which depended a black veil which fell to my crimson painted lips.

"Shall we alight?" I asked Hadrian with a smile.

“Aquillas over the Rift, the lady wins!”

The croupier in the green on gold livery of the Amaletha Zephyr called. He was a handsome man in a generic sort of way but too professional to flirt with me when my ‘husband’ was sitting beside me. He drew a pile of the tsorak ivory chips from the center of the velvet covered table with a long jade handled crop, made the house stake vanish with a flick of his wrist and pushed the rest into my zone. I smiled and slid my cards into the center to be reshuffled by the bejeweled fingers of the dealer.

We were in the Montleo Car of the Zephyr as it glided along the coast of the Amaranthine Sea. The gorgeous sunset had given way to the glittering brilliance of the night sky, free of light pollution from hives or habs. The sea glittered with with phosphor bright wavelets that glowed faintly purple with bioluminescence. The Montelo Car was fifty feet long and had crystal clear armorcrys on floor and ceiling allowing stunning views of the ocean. Dozens of tables, each a master piece of polished and carved wood, were arrayed along its length, each providing various games for the passengers to gamble upon. There were three bars, one on a slightly lower tier to each side and a central one in the middle, from which liveried wait staff provided drinks and food for their well to do passengers. Roulette wheels clattered and gamblers cheered or groaned as their luck dictated. I was playing Cardinals, a complicated trick taking game that had been popular on Bonaventure before I left. Like many such games luck played a role, but bluffing and deception were the true key. Hadrian was sitting beside me giving me a jaundiced look but for once I could claim to be perfectly innocent. One of the amenities of the Montelo Car was that it had powerful psy-bafflers that prevented the use of any mental powers to seize an advantage. It was a necessary precaution in a place where high stakes games might involve the winning and losing of starships or noble titles. Hadrian was sitting beside me, though he hadn’t been playing the last few hands. His attention was on a game of Gothic, a stylized game of starship command on the adjoining table.

“It is a pleasure to lose to the lady, but there is such a thing as too much pleasure,” General Aranson said as he puffed on an elaborately carved pipe. He wore a coat in a military cut with the gold flashes of an Astra Millitarum general, though he had retired a decade ago. He stroked his mutton chops before tossing a chip into my zone. As the previous winner I was the most expensive partner. Dame Aranson, woman with the slightly glossy look of extensive rejuv work and very hard eyes, sniffed but placed a chip in her own zone, indicating that she would play alone this round.

“You two can’t run forever,” Goldwyn, an androgynous looking older man with half moon spectacles replied. He placed a chip in my zone also, paying to break up my potential partnership with the general. He was a Magos Biotechnica with extensive interests in pharmaceutical manufacture. It must have been a tremendously lucrative field for him to spend money like he did, for all he looked like a slightly run down scholam teacher.

“I’ll take my chances with you Regina,” Corbin Lazaro declared with a lazy grin. Lazaro was a well to do lothario whose father had made a fortune in the timber trade. He had made a shameless attempt to flirt with me when he had first sat down but a single look from Hadrian and a thrashing in the subsequent three hands had convinced him that Dame Aranson was safer prey. I had a suspicion that the General did not feel at all threatened and perhaps didn’t care, though he was happy to take advantage of the young gallant’s distraction.

I was about to ask for the cards to be dealt, another prerogative of having won the previous round, when the croupier held up a hand. A tall man in a dark storm coat stepped to an open seat and sat down. He slid a card over to the croupier and tapped a button to establish his credit. The newcomer was axe faced and had eyes like flint.

“A new player, High Count Larac Vidar of Tollery,” the croupier announced. He snapped his heels together and bowed before introducing the other players.

“General and Dame Aranson, Sier Robero Goldwyn, Rear Admiral Blasius Deckard, Lady Mathilde Deckard, Sieur Lazaro,” the croupier declared completing the introductions.

“Lady Deckard holds the ground.”

“I don’t need a woman to win,” Larac sneered and checked his chip to play alone. I knocked the edge of the table with my knuckles for the deal and cards were fanned out to all players. I consulted the cards and paid the penalty to accept General Aranson as a partner. Larac sneered again and I kept the frown from my face. Normally I found the psy-bafflers comforting but something about the man, perhaps just his manners, irritated me.

“Let’s play.”

I inclined my head, receiving my glass of raenka with gladness. I'd not have such a luxury in months.

The game of Gothic set before me was at a stalemate. Lord Gaspard's dauntless had finally been dispatched, despite his deft maneuvering the past four turns. The old warhorse nursed his second gorsk white-gyn, somehow still being able to play after imbibing a glass not half an hour ago. Across from him, High Councilor Felix was toying with his ostentatious mustache, plotting over his sword frigates and savoring the moment. Both had been outwardly forlorn but inwardly pleased when I had resigned after my initial two bouts. Gothic was an obtuse game, but it was addicting. I did not like to keep my full attention on it when Emmaline was on the warpath, though I soon came to realize she could handle herself well enough on the playing field. His drink of choice was Old-Foiz, befitting a bureaucrat wishing to appear like a wizened academic.

"Would you care to make your move, Mrs Deckard?" Lazaro quipped as Emmaline tapped a manicured finger to her chin.

"Lady Deckard," she corrected as she reached forward to make her play. "-and forgive me my contemplation. I have forgotten how quickly you are reputed to finish things."

I gave myself the luxury of a small smirk at the quip, growing rather bored of the gothic game. They had a riveting round, but the weakness of the game was a slow, meticulous middle play. I lifted my glass, catching the oblong reflection in my eye. Instead of Emmaline's golden head, I saw a pair of eyes; a coachman in the standard red regalia. It was only for a moment, but there was something in his hand. By the way his fingers curled, I could surmise the next few seconds. My glance flickered to Gaspard, and casually I reached for the leather bound menu I was granted.

"I am famished!" I declared, lifting the menu high like a battle standard. A psi dart struck it not a moment later, and I quickly lowered the menu, subtly removing the diminutive missile and sliding it in my coat pocket. I raised an eyebrow, appearing dissatisfied with the slow service. A few eyes were drawn my eye, but I made of show of paying them no mind. I fixed my tie, as if I were about to do something strenuous.

"My good man, supper is only in another half an hour. Surely you can wait," High Count Vidar stipulated. Emmaline grinned, a facade to showcase her attention entirely on the game.

"Do not change the subject, my lord. You have enough to worry over, I dare say." She remarked with satisfaction, placing a card on the table with an audible snap to garner attention. My hand ran along her neck for a brief moment, a move that could be read a dozen different ways, and I stepped into the left hall leading to the tail end of the Montleo Car. Past the bar, through the small cordoned off veils, I saw the fleeting glimpse of the assailant. He stopped before I entered the last chamber of the car, the attendant hurrying to the lift that would lead him to the next floor. He pressed the button and looked over his right shoulder. I came in from the left, stepping in as the door opened.

The man, a middle aged, nondescript fellow with a sheen to his light wrinkles, almost jumped. He knew if he didn't step in as well, that would look suspicious, and I gave him a kind smile to disarm his concerns. He sighed, and entered with me. As the doors closed, I turned to him, letting the dart slide out of my pocket, presenting it to his horrified face. "I believe this is yours."

A blade appeared in his hand as swiftly as I plucked out the psi-dart. He thrust at my spleen as I thought he would. Easier to conceal the wound in my jacket, and he could then block the door and choke me out at his leisure. Unfortunately, his plan did not bear fruit. I disrupted the thrust with my right and placed the dart beneath his chin with my left. His face went white.

"You don't appear to be aware, but I am currently on a sort of honeymoon." I informed him. "You will tell me who you are working for so I can solve this quickly..."

As the lift opened on the second floor, I stepped out wearing a red vest and the square cap of a coachman, my jacket draped over my arm like a towel. They would find the assassin in the emergency hatch, ready to confess everything once dinner began. My will saw to that. The tinkling of glass and the angelic laughter of high class courtesans filled the air, along with the smoke of lho-leaf. I stepped into the gentlemen's club, for the lonely, rich men without companions and who lacked the shame to try and apply the old fashioned way. A black dressed vixen with red lips sauntered past me to plant herself on the lap of a local planetary tycoon. I used her sultry movements to give myself an excuse to glance across the room, and I found my quarry almost instantly.

Two emerald rings on fat fingers, a plumage of coiling tendrils snaked across his neck that flexed when he gave a sharkish grin. A mercantile prince, Yerhax of Panagor. Groping the rump of one of his paid girls, who tossed a pair of dice into the center of the table. Cheers rose and he chuckled, whispering to a conspirator with a bionic eye, not doubt used to great effect. I placed a quiet hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but leaned in as I knelt down to his level.

"Trouble downstairs with target." I whispered.

He went frigid, and I motioned for him to follow. He gave a few platitudes to the surrounding table, and growled at one opponent, pointing a burly finger. "Ferhold will keep my spot. Wait for me."

I escorted him to the back, and he led the way into a private chamber. I noticed the plasteel on the wall, sounding proofing the room. Suddenly the portly man shoved me against the wall, his eyes blazing as the thick wires wriggled. "FOOL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING SPEAKING TO ME IN PUBLIC OF THIS!?"

"Forgive me." I said, before I planted my knee in his stomach. His eyes bulged, but he tried to throw his weight on me again. By that point his grip had slackened. I cut his arm down with a shove of both hands, and as he lurched forward, his neck ran into my elbow. He wheezed and hacked a cough as the coils desperately pumped oxygen to compensate. My palm met his nose, and my foot kicked his leg out from under him. Yerhax fell to the floor like Emmaline after a bender, sprawled onto the ground.

"Lord Gaspard's sanctions are a risky move. I'm impressed." I admitted, taking the cap off and removing the vest. Carefully I unfolded my jacket, slipping it back onto my frame, unblemished. "If only he used that sort of cunning at Gothic, I might be more entertained."

Yerhax tried to raise his head up, perplexed. As if the first time, he noticed I was not his man. The aristocrats often had that conceit. I found the flimsiest of disguises could fool them for long lengths of time, with the right words. "Who are you?"

"Luckily, he did me a favor." I continued, straightening the suit and pulling my sleeves. There was a smidge of blood on my knuckle. I wiped it on his jacket, and brushed some dust off my shoe. "I've been watching you for some time. A panagor tycoon on this planet? Your dealings with the underworld are not as well hidden as you'd like to think. Fortunately, that is not my expertise. Unfortunately, you tried to ruin my vacation. Within the hour, you'll be in arbites custody."

I grabbed his head of hair and smashed his face onto the floor, knocking him out cold.

One minute later, I sat back down at my chair, silently admiring how little the Gothic game had moved. I leaned my head to Emmaline, clearing my throat. "One simply cannot find good help these days, darling." I lamented, rolling my eyes. "Anyway, when's dinner?"

General Aranson was of less help than his bid suggested. Fortunately the old stick was an excellent defensive player and was able to stymy Vidar's attempt to take the lead away from us. Each time the general laid down a cross suited trump to disrupt the High Count's play that worthy grew pale with fury. None of the other players seemed interested in assisting Vidar to take the lead, but both Goldwyn and Lazaro were able to secure their reliquaries while we were distracted fending off his assault. Cardinals was a game of shifting alliances with a major objective, the Sceptre, and minor objectives, the Reliquaries. Obtaining a Reliquary essentially meant that you broke even for the round, obtaining a Sceptre was victory and obtaining a Scepter and Reliquary in the same round allowed you to move the end game and Crown the Ecclesiarch. The cost of gaining a Reliquary increased as the rounds progressed as they represented only illusory safety. The trick to Cardinals was to use as many of the other players as you could to drive up the cost of Reliquaries while obtaining Sceptres for yourself. Partnering up was profitable but usually represented an attempt to maneuver you. Playing the game without my Psy was fun for its novelty. By the time Hadrian returned looking very pleased with himself, I had acquired the three scepters I needed to Crown, largely thanks to Vidar's aggressive play and stubborn refusal to make an alliance against me. I broke with Lazlo by driving the price of a Reliquary too high for him to continue, then laid my remaining cards down to a collection of groans.

"She sees the back of cards as well as the front," Count Vidar sneered. A sudden stunned silence fell over the table, Dame Aranson inhaling so deeply on her lho stick holder that her eyes bulged in an effort not to cough. The croupier looked mortified for a moment before a professional blankness crossed his face.

"Did you just accuse my wife of cheating sir?" Hadrian asked in a voice so deceptively mild that one might have almost missed the deadly menace that freighted it. Vidar drew his lips back in a snarl but was interrupted by the ringing of the crystalline bell that signalled lunch was about to be served. The Croupier took advantage of the distraction to push my chips across to me with his crop. I flicked him a chip and slid the rest into the tables recess, hearing the click click click of the counter followed by the ping which let me know my winnings had been credited to my account. I stood up and the other men followed suit, each giving us a brief bow. Vidar stayed seated, flicking his cards childishly into the center of the table.

"I wonder what that was about?" I asked Hadrian as we headed to the dining car.

"You weren't actually cheating were you?" Hadrian replied as a white clothed waiter ushered us to an immaculately laid out table decorated with black lotus petals floating in ornate glass bowls. I grinned and shook my head.

I ordered a grox steak which had been pressure cooked, then sauteed with a glaze of wine and tart dried plains, followed by several other courses of salads and savories interspersed with a variety of wines and amasecs. We passed through a station and there was a brief disruption while a team of Arbites came aboard and departed again without troubling us. When I asked what they were up to, Hadrian shrugged easily and made a comment about wealth and crime being too sides of a coin. We were soon on our way again and making our way up through picturesque farmlands that boarded the sea before we began the long climb into the Kalydon mountains. The series of switchbacks provided stunning views while we chatted over biscuits and recaf. The Zephyr provided excellent privacy fields but we didn't bother to use them, we left Inquisitorial business aside for a few hours and talked of history and sector politics. Hadrian was very knowledgeable though he tended towards a rather Amalathian perspective that I didn't quite agree with but not so violently that it derailed our discussion. It was a pleasant way to spend a few hours and when the bell rang for dinner service we retired being too full from constant snacking and a steady supply of wine and liquor to eat another meal.

It took the Zephyr several hours to climb into the great mountain pass that split the continental curtain wall of the Kalydons. We had retired for several hours to bathe and change before the Crossing Ball, a dance that was held each time the great locomotive crossed the mountains. I dressed in a gown of cream silk trimmed with accents of gold and diamonds. I was just pulling on my stockings and fastening my garterbelt when Hadrian appeared looking rather fetching in a military style suit in a dark charcoal with a rather impressive fur trimmed naval watch coat. Hadrian arched his eyebrow in approval and crossed the room.

“You are looking very fetching,” I said.

“Not so bad yourself,” he said, crossing the room and seizing me around the waist. He lifted me up onto the countertop, pushing me backwards onto the countertop.

“We are going to be late!” I laughed as he took hold of my legs and spread them, gathering up my skirts then dragging me back so my bottom was on the edge of the counter.

“So we will be late,” he replied with a devilish grin that made my heart skip. He sank down to his knees and tugged me back further before drawing my skirts down over his head hiding him from view. His purpose lost whatever mystery it might have had as I felt his lips brush up against my underwear, his teeth seizing the flimsy fabric and pulling them aside with obvious relish. My eyes flew wide and… the next thing I knew I was laying on the floor of our compartment. Makeup containers and clothing were scattered everywhere. Hadrian was standing above me, his lips moving as though he were shouting. It took me a moment to clear the ringing from my head and sit up. My head was throbbing like mad, I reached up to touch my head but there was no blood.

“...you ok?” Hadrian’s words finally penetrated. I nodded my head, dazed and confused.

“There was an explosion,” he explained. I realized that the engine noise had stopped and a low whump whump whump of an emergency alarm was sounding. I heard feet pounding outside as people were running past. I had been thrown across the compartment and struck the window with my head. I probably had my elaborate hairstyle to thank for not having my neck broken.

“Accident?” I asked, thinking about the incredible care that the crew of the Zephyr leveled on their machine.

“Unknown,” Hadrian replied, furiously punching keys on the safe in which we had stored our weapons. It gave no response to his efforts, not even the soft beeps of the keys engaging.

“Stay here I’ll find out,” Hadrian said. The whine of a landspeeder turbine went past outside which made Hadrian frown. He crossed to the door and opened it.

“You, what is the problem,” he demanded of a panicked looking staff member. The young man turned and stared blindly for a few moments.

“Our engineers are working on it sir, please return to your cabin,” the man said with the sing song voice of a man whose panic was so acute he was falling back on old scripts. With the door open there was a smell in the air, fisolene and burning insulation.

“WHAT IS THE PROBLEM,” Hadrian demanded, his voice infused with his will. The man wet himself instantly.

“Ex..explosion on the pleasure deck,” the man stammered then turned sideways and vomited. Another landspeeder howled passed outside, a very fast reaction for emergency services.

“Stay here,” Hadrian repeated, then vanished into the corridor.

“Like hell,” I said as I got unsteadily to my feet. I took my deringer from my garter and checked the load.

“Like hell.”

Even without hearing her remarks under her breath, I knew there was the highest probability that she would not listen. However, us fighting would not serve in my duties, and using my authority as her superior would not likely have stopped her either. The best I could hope for would be to solve this quickly before she received damage, or to at least draw fire from her. Unfortunately, our most potent weapons were locked within the safe. It was foolish to trust a compartment with an electronic lock. I had to make do with a smaller laspistol I had kept on my person, and my modified pallasch was stored in the closet, something I nabbed on my way out of the door.

Stepping into the dim hall of the car, decked in military honors with a handgun in my life and my sword in my right, I looked every inch a lieutenant of Ultramar.

The first thing I noticed was the cold. Unsurprisingly, there had been a massive breach somewhere, and judging by the wind it was further up the fore. There was screaming ahead, the wail of grief and fear. I stalked ahead, stepping lightly so as not to make a sound. Outside the elongated windows, snow flurries banked across my vision. A pottery of flowers had crashed to the floor, and a red light flared around the corner. I stepped into the lounge area, and to my surprise I saw the emergency hatch had been opened, chairs strewn and four well dressed corpses on the floor. At the far end of the car was a gaping hole the size of a large ground car. Even from here, I saw the innards of the next car, its tail ending have ruptured from the extend of the blast, that had evidently occurred upstairs.

I smelled the putrid scent of piss tinged with gasoline. Ammonium nitrate and fuel oil? An emulsion explosion.

A standard, if exceptionally powerful concoction. Whoever did this was either local, or they did not want to use something more foreign to tip off authorities. Quickly I went to the open doorway, making certain the coast was clear. The wind whipped in my face, drowning out any sounds I might have picked up. I grimaced, and pulled the heavy door shut.

"Freeze, grox shit!"

I slowly turned, presented with three coachmen and two security officers aiming their laspistols with shaky hands. I held myself for a moment, before one of the securitymen recognized me, and bade his fellow lower his pistol. "Admiral, forgive us. It's not saf-"

"My good man, I have fought the enemies of mankind from the Segmentum to Obscura." I said, honest to the word. I used my pallasch for emphasis, indicating the back of the car. "There was a dining car upstairs. Check for survivors."

"Sir, with respect. We have to advise you to return to your suite."

Glass shattered, three dark figures in armored bodygloves and winter gear kicked through the windows behind the employees of the train. They hit the ground in practiced rolls and opened fire with their lascarbines. The coachmen did not even have time to scream before they were killed, all five slaughtered in two beats of the heart. I fired thrice as I evaded, being given a split second warning before the unfortunate coachmen. The Emperor was with me, my second shot taking one of the assailants in the face, burning through his mask like a scythe through wheat. He fell without a word, but the other two turned to fire. I leaped behind a fallen table, superheated air igniting around my position. I slid to the opposite end of the table on my back, firing through the gap between the curvature of the table and the floor. I hit the rightmost man twice in the chest, but I could not be sure he was dead as he fell back. The other had disappeared. I scrambled to my feet as he came around the corner, and with a snap kick he knocked my laspistol out of my hand. Realigning his carbine, I activated the rune on my pallasch and cut his weapon from stock to barrel. As the lasgun was split in two, he had the frame of mind to duck under my accompanying thrust, but he could only backpedal so quickly, and I opened his stomach with a bakchanded cut, entrails spilling onto the upholstery carpet. He fell to his knees, desperately trying to put his organs back into his stomach as his body began to fail.

I ignored him, making my way to the prone form of the third man, glancing down the corridor to make sure I was not about be flanked. The second cost me. In that single moment, the wounded man had bitten down on a device that made an audible crunch, and I watched as his eyes clouded over and his body began to jerk, blood and foam erupting from his gaping mouth.

Cursing, I glanced upwards, before looking to the other car. Across the gap, a score of meters from my position, various other workmen were watching me with awe and fear, along with who I assumed was the conductor. I saluted with my sword, and made my way to their position.

We needed to get the electricity back, and rescue efforts needed to be organized.

I tried to follow Hadrian out into the hall but almost immediately was borne backwards by a trio of passengers blindly fleeing the gunfire further up the train. I shoved through them and started forward when fire and smoke exploded from what had been our cabin. Glass and smoke billowed out tinkling musically against the far wall. Before I could get up, a trio of men emerged from the inferno. They wore grey on white arctic camo gear and body armor. Their faces were obscured by ski masks and reflective goggles and they carried cut down las carbines. They turned and spotted me, raising their weapons in unison. I lashed out with my will attempting to convince them to turn their weapons on each other. Absolutely nothing happened. I suddenly realized that I felt blunt as though my mind had somehow been taken away from me. The cavernous bores gaped as wide and pitiless as the void and I realized I was about to die, I fumbled furiously for a weapon but I was dressed to dance, not go into battle. Blood sprayed over me and three heads thumped to the floor like grotesque fruit. General Aranson stood in his silken nightgown, a smoking powerblade in his hands. It was long and thin, evidently concealed within a sword cane.
"Rather rude fellows," the old general commented with commendable sangfroid. I tried again to reach my will but I could feel nothing, not even the thoughts of the man standing five feet in front of me. There was some kind of psi baffle at work or perhaps these mysterious attackers had untouchables with them. Both ideas seemed too fantastic to credit. Thieves or hijackers would never be able to afford such esoteric advantages, nor would they need them. Which had to mean they had specifically gunning for Hadrian and me. Scrambling forward, I scooped up one of the carbines. It felt awkward in my hands but it went some way to quelling the terror I felt to be suddenly bereft of my will.

"Do you know how to use that my lady?” he asked sceptically. Clara had asked me the same thing on numerous occasions, although somewhat less politely. Luckily our attackers had weapons loaded and safeties off. My nose wrinkled at the odor of burnt blood and voided bowels that permeated the corpses. The actinic tang of las fire tickled my sinuses but I managed to avoid sneezing.

“I’ve hunted a time or two… I…,” I trailed off in explanation as something in the soldiers webbing. It was a simple plastec card, not too dissimilar from an identification card that an Administratum clerk might wear on a lanyard. On one side was a holo pict of Hadrian, the reverse had a still image of me. Both appeared to have been taken at Agesilaua ,probably some time ago judging by the curls I had in my hair. I twisted my lip, stomach sinking as I realised how much preparation had gone into this. These were no mere bandits, they had the pict of an Imperial Inquisitor, had done surveillance on him even, and then showed up with equipment designed to nullify my mind.

“They have your picture my lady?” Aranson asked. He had come up behind me while I rifled the pockets of the downed soldier. A landspeeder howled along the length of the train, rattling the glass. A powerful stab light blazed through the windows like a naval lance.

“Down!” I yelled but I had no cause to instruct an Astra Militarum general. Aranson extinguished his powerblade and sank down as the searchlight swept past. It slowed ahead of us and I heard the thump of more men leaping onto the roof of the cars ahead of us. Emergency claxons continued to whine, proclaiming fire, equipment failure, and environmental warnings all at once.

“Are they kidnappers?” Aranson asked. The idea took hold at once. I didn’t know if preserving my cover had any value but I had learned that keeping a few lies alive is always useful. Every truth should have a bodyguard of lies.

“Perhaps but my husband has enemies, it might be an assassination,” I admitted.

“Bloody strange way to go about it, awfully noisy,” Aranson observed.

A heavy bolter chartered nearby, the dull whump whump whump of shells punching through the walls buzzing through the floor panels. I heard someone scream, a deep guttural scream of pain and horror, it faded quickly as the victim bled out through an opened chest or a severed limb.

“I’ll be sure to tell them you disapprove,” I replied tartly. I wanted to go forward and help Hadrian but it was clear there were multiple enemies between us. I wasn’t a soldier or an operative who could fight her way past a dozen killers with a lasgun and a can do attitude. I needed my psykana to even the odds. The odds that the enemy, however well financed, had enough untouchables to blank me seemed insane. Psy baffling equipment was less expensive but even so…

The credit dropped.

The enemy did not need a psy baffler. There was one in the gaming car, millions of credits worth of engineering to keep high rollers from cheating at cards. All the enemy had to do was boost it’s range. I cursed myself for being an idiot and turned heading down the car at a crouch that kept me below the line of the windows. Another landspeeder howled past, stab light searching for victims. I counted at least four machines and that was probably an underestimate. Some were undoubtedly flying air cover while others delivered their cargos of troops. I wondered how many men the enemy had, and what our chances were of getting out of this alive. Not good if I were any judge.
The rear of the train was in somewhat better order than the front section, a few of the staff were about, some cowering others attempting to pull on cold weather survival suits with the apparent intention of making a run for it. That was a doomed plan, even if the attackers lacked infrared auspex units, they would be certain to pick up the high visibility emergency gear. A few of them started when we passed, but none attempted to block our passage, I must have looked ridiculous with my stockings and ball gown accessorized by a las carbine but no one was laughing. The Montelo Car was empty save for a bartender who had taken cover in the ring shaped bar in its center. I crossed to him quickly, plucking the bottle of amasec from his hand. It was a Svarian vintage, a hundred years old and worth five times the man’s likely salary. He gave me a bitter look but didn’t protest.

“Where is the psy baffler?” I demanded. The barman looked blank.

“The what?”

“The machine you use to stop psykers from cheating at cards, where is it?” I demanded.

“The Orb… it is down below on the engineering level,” he stammered, “why do you want to…” I snapped my fingers in front of his face to keep him on topic.

“Engineering level?” I asked. The drunken barman shrugged. Another explosion rocked the train and several crystal glasses fell in a cacophony of shattering glass that made the barman whimper and cover his head. I grated my teeth, this would be so easy with my psykana. Luckily General Aranson came to my rescue. With surprising strength for an old man he grabbed the barman by the lapels and lifted him bodily.

“Where is the Engineering level man?!” he demanded, shaking the fellow back into something like sobriety. The barman was very young, I noticed, hardly more than a boy.

“Below us, all the tech is there and we use the passages so as not to disturb the muck… err the passengers,” the fellow stammered. Aranson threw him down on the diamond inlaid benchtop. I took a surreptitious sip of the amasec and let the liquid warm me. Enough damage had been done to the train’s integrity that the alpine chill was beginning to make my breath fog.

“There is an access hatch…” the barman began but Aranson gave him another shake.

“Show us laddie, let's not stand here playing Alderai whispers till we are all dead.” His voice was grim. For the first time I wondered what had happened to Dame Aranson but right now, with my own skin on the line, was not the time to ask. He propelled the barman with a directionless shove, but the boy stumbled to the starboard side leading us to a second bar whose clear armorcrys windows would have normally given a look out over the vista as the train passed. Metal emergency shutters had closed over them now, which was why whe hadn’t already been shredded by the prowling landspeeders outside. Behind the shelves of liquor was a narrow corridor large enough for a small grav pallet to be maneuvered. A caged lift gave access to a level of the train below what I had thought of as the floor. I opened the cage and stepped inside, beckoning the general and the barman to follow.

The engineering level was as different from the opulent upper deck as it was possible to be. It was a maze of ductwork, machinery, and fluttering mechanicum prayer strips. The smell of lubricant, incense and hot metal were heavy in the air. I briefly wondered what Lazrus would make of it, though I would never have admitted to thinking about him.

“The Orb is just round here miss,’ the barman said stepping out into the central hallway. A las blast exploded his chest, pitching him back in a spray of superheated blood and tissue. A dozen more bolts scythed through the hallway, some hitting him, pitching his body about like a stone in a tumble drier. The shooting stopped and coarse gutural shouts sounded from somewhere to the aft of the train.

“We need a damned mirror,” Aranson groused, as unmoved by the death of our guide as he had been by a poor hand at Cardinals. I reached into my dress and produced a compact makeup case sheathed in gold and inlaid with mother of pearl. I opened it and used the makeup mirror to peer around the corner. Thirty yards down the corridor opened up into a large space in the center of which hung a large brass sphere festooned with wires, cables, and chemical tubes, the purpose of which I could only get at. A dozen men in servants livery were clustered around it, they were armed with a variety of ornate but demonstrably effective looking firearms. They were lead by the lean figure of none other than High Count Vidar of Tollery. He was clutching a bolt pistol and a chain sword. Behind them a tech priest clucked and hissed in binaric as he made some arcane adjustments to the orb.

“Is that you Deckard?” Vidar called in his cultured accent, the sneer almost biting the machine warmed air. “Why don’t you come out and we settle this like gentlemen.” Pieces were falling into place now. Vidar had come aboard with an entourage of servants who were in reality an advanced team tasked with securing the psy-baffle. A rich man would have no trouble bringing hunting rifles and other such equipment with him, many nobles travelled with enormous arsenals of ornate weapons and armor. I thought of the explosion that had stopped the train, no doubt these men had set that as well.

“We cannot stay here my lady,” Aranson advised, his hand opening and closing on the hilt of his powerblade.

“Do you think a burst of las fire would disable the baffle,” I asked, hefting the carbine.

“Perhaps if you had a las cannon my lady, we used these during the War to blank our command points, rugged tech I’m afraid.” I growled in frustration at coming so close to my goal only to be frustrated by its impossibility. What would Hadrian do. Charge in sword swinging handsomely and cut them all to pieces. Inspiring but deeply unhelpful.

“They may be flanking us, we need to leave,” Aranson prompted. I nodded and we slipped down another passage that led towards the front of the train, crossing the barrier between two cars. The connection was marked with yellow and black slashed paint and a tingling in my skin that told me very high voltage magnets were at work nearby. This car appeared to be an enginarium of sorts, control lecterns lined up against both walls, linked to the bones of the train by snaking cable swaths. Aranson closed the door behind us and threw a mechanical interlock which made me feel a little safer. I stepped up to the control lecturns and prodded a few buttons with my fingers.

“Do you have a plan my lady?” Aranson asked, watching me uneasily as I worked at the terminal, making various screens cycle passed. Some were obvious, steam pressure, fuel, wind and the like. Others were deep mysterious panels of arcane information.

“I’m open to suggestions,” I admitted. General Aranson stroked his mustache.

“The weather report said there was a storm front coming up the other side of the pass, if we could get over the top the landspeeders might not be able to follow us, at least until we clear the squall,” he mused. I opened my mouth to reject the idea as unworkable, we were near the rear of the train and had no way to get it going again, even if that were possible. Hadrian, if he was alive, God Emperor let him be alive, might be near the front of the train but I had no way to contact him with the vox and mind jamming. I reached over and lifted a red bakelite handset off one of the control lecterns. The audible pong that preceded announcements sounded over the public address system.

“Admiral Deckard, your wife is on line one, Admiral Deckard line one,” I said in an imitation of the sing song the usually announcer used. Aranson was staring at me. I held my hand up to the receiver to block it from picking up my words.

“What, he might be near a phone,” I said defensively.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep myself calm as the grousing continued.

I had requisitioned the staff manager Peidmont, and the junior officer Jonas on the train had deigned to tag along, his superior unfortunately having been caught in the blast. Lord Gaspard, his coat half burned and his scarf missing, but otherwise unharmed, had joined us. As I had predicted, he did have military experience, but only as a logistics officer in the retinue of a colonel in what he described as the Goliad campaign, one I was not familiar with. The conductor, Agiad, was also present, and to my surprise he had the cog of the mechanicum on the breast of his shirt. Unfortunately, they had all begun to bicker as to the best course of action before I could get a word in edgewise.

"How many men do you have? A half a dozen? I have autoguns in my cache, let's arm up and hunt these bastards down for daring to impeded on the Emperor's servants!" Lord Gaspard demanded, looking for all the world like it was phantine hunt. I recognized the bravado in his eyes.

"My lord, these men aren't trained to use guns! They can barely breathe after that explosion," Peidmont protested. "I say we leave this to the security forces."

Jonas clutched his collar, not wishing to appear cowardly but breaking out in a cold sweat. Lucky for him, I was the only one not nervous or blood drunk enough to notice. "I've only my deputy here. The rest of my men are in the back of the train-"

"If they're even still alive." The conductor responded, his lanky face haggard from working long hours. I imagined the explosion occurred on the tail end of his shift, and if he had been off duty he might have been immolated along with two score of the passengers and staff that had been caught in the blast. He had even had the wherewithall to check the engine room after he had come out to see my dispatching of the assassins.

"We outnumber them-" Gaspard declared.

"How do you know that?" Peidmont asked, too angered and afraid to use the required honorific.

"-And even if we do not, we have a duty to the Emperor to see them dead!" the lord snarled, the short man trying to loom over the taller but skinnier civilian. Despite his youth and height, Peidmont cowed.

"What do you think, Admiral?" Jonas asked pointedly in my direction. The lights flickered, but held strong.

"The Admiral is only experienced in naval engagements," Gaspard rasped, my victory over him in Gothic still fresh in his mind, despite the far more serious atmosphere we found ourselves in. Like most aristocrats, his flawed ego bade him to take command here to nurse his wounded pride. I was unwilling to give my true identity yet, but he might leave me with little choice.

"Lord Deckard is the only one who seems to have made good on 'death to the enemies of mankind' ideal." Agiad reminded them, indicating me.

Truth be told, I was not entirely dissatisfied with the group of them rambling over one another. It had given myself a brief moment to think. However, it seemed my dispatching of the three assailants minutes before had reentered their minds, and they all looked at me with a resurgent respect. Everyone save Gaspard was expectant, while the lord allowed himself a rueful look. I ignored him, the others growing more attentive with my momentary silence.

"I could not help but notice we have stopped." I said to them. It brought confused glances, but to his credit, Peidmont's face brightened first.

"There was only one bomb, right?" He asked, turning to Agiad.

"Yes, the terminal only showcased external damage in two cars, each from the same explosion." The conductor responded, his mind whirring. I decided to help out, we did not have time for twenty questions.

"I assume this train has more than one engine, considering cargo haulers have six cars or less, and with stringent weight limits. I also noticed the lights were out after the the blast." I reminded them, and regarded the conductor. "How is this train powered?"

"Um, all the Luxury Locomotives on the planet have a mixture of electro-promethium engines. This one has three. One in the front, one in the center, and the other at the very back." Agiad explained, thinking out loud. "But we would either need to lose a lot of weight, or I would need to get all three engines moving. Tractive friction can keep it moving, usually, but in the mountains we need the torque from the engines. But there was no way they could have sabotaged all three engines, or at least the engine up front. I was the only one up here when it happened, no one got into the engine room. But I got it running right quick, after."

"Disabling one wouldn't have stopped us so completely, either. I imagine they used a haywire weapon." I said.

"A what?" Jonas asked, frustrated by consistently being out of his depth. Agiad and Gaspard blanched, however.

"But that would mean-!"

A clear ring erupted to the group's left. Peidmont near wet himself, thinking it another explosion. A familiar voice that uplifted my heart sprung out of the audio centre. "Admiral Deckard, your wife is on line one, Admiral Deckard line one." I reached for the telespeak, much to the dismay of the others who no doubt thought it a trap. I held up a finger. "Excuse me gentlemen, I must take this," flipped the switch for line 1, placed the device near my ear.

"This is Admiral Deckard," I said.

"Throne, I'm glad you're alright." Emmaline said, her voice like the finest damassian wine.

"Touch and go for a moment there. Are you safe?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said, not needing to explain she was not in our room. Either way, it was a weight off my shoulders. "I'm at the rear of the train, none the worse for wear."

"Good to hear. Now that I know that, I can ask..." I began casually, before lowering the pitch of my voice. "what are you wearing?", and she giggled.

"The same thing, which I know you like."

"I do," I agreed, smiling at the others. They looked expectant or disturbed, at both me and the situation. "Hang tight, we'll be there soon."

"Wait, I have some news..."

I hung up the phone much relieved to know Hadrian was alright. I was badly out of my element without access to my psykanna and with no tech adept my options were limited. General Aranson was stroking his chin and giving me a jaundiced look. His eyes kept flicking back to the Motelo Car where Vidar and his squad of pseudo servants lurked.

"Interesting conversation," he remarked, "rather a cogent tactical analysis for an Admiral's wife."

"Just trying to salvage my honeymoon," I replied, prodding fruitlessly at the tech in front of me. There were diagnostic panels and what I assumed were controls but most of these were dull and unpowered with the engines shut down. It was getting colder fast with the air reprocessor down. My breath already steamed in front of me as alpine night closed in. I thought about Aranson's comment that there was a storm projected on the other side of the past. This definitely felt like a deep breath before the plunge. The general clearly wasn't convinced but was disinclined to pursue it.

"Any idea why our friends back there didn't pursue us?" Aranson asked, gesturing to the door I had locked. "With that hardware the door wouldn't hold them long."

"Probably they are waiting for their friends with the las guns to sweep the train, if they stay where they are we cant double back," I speculated.

"They haven't done so yet," he pointed out. I thought of Hadrian up in the front of the train where the majority of cars had landed. I really wished I had some way to talk to him. If I had my psy... well might as well wish for Lucius Raj in full armor while I was at it. The thought made me smile, an expression which, under the circumstances, made Aranson mutter a curse. The image of Raj smashing the train apart was good for my morale, but the more I thought about it the more an idea crystallized in my mind. I didn't dare call Hadrian to tell him about it. I had gotten away with the phone once, but I had no doubt that the enemy was busily tapping it at this very moment.

"They have landed upwards of a platoon of men already," General Aranson supplied, though he knew that I had no idea. I hadn't heard any landspeeders go past but I was far from certain I would be this deep in the belly of the metal beast. I thought of Hadrian alone against thirty men, with his will every bit as blunt as mine was. I tapped the screen and found the panel I was looking for. My heart fell. I gestured Aranson over to look at it, knowing that every instant that passed brought the enemy closer. As if to underscore that thought the train rocked powerfully under some impact. Dust rained around us and prayer scrolls fluttered nervously, a great billow of smoke shot down the central corridor. Aranson grabbed me and hauled me down behind the console and I heard booted feet on the steel walkway, moving at a fast trot. Stablight beams played through the dust, sweeping in quick nervous arcs which betrayed them as underslung units attached to carbines. I held myself very still. After a few heart stopping seconds they started to move up the train towards the engine. Dust tickled my sinus and I sneezed. The booted feet stilled. In my mind's eye I could very easily see the enemy making hand gestures and circling back.

I lifted my carbine by the balance and extended it to Aranson, gesturing for him to give me his power sword. He looked troubled but passed it to me, taking my weapon and lifting it to his shoulder. I reversed the blade in my hands, marveling at the feeling of the ancient ivory grip. It had some kind of writing embossed in it but this was no time to get curious. I mouthed 'cover me' to Aranson and to the old dog's credit he popped up and opened fire, cracking out quick three round bursts, making the air tangy with ozone. I ignited the power sword and plunged it into the deck. It went through the steel like a knife through cake. Las blasts ricocheted off the bulkhead behind us painfully loud, like giant angry mosquitos. Prayer slips and lubricant ignited in a dozen places, creating smouldering spot fires. I hauled the power sword around in an arc, my leg muscles spasmed from the sparking electrical discharge but I grimly forced my hands to continue. It was the first time tonight I regretted not having had time to put on my shoes. Aranson dropped back into cover and hammer blows slammed into the console, blasting us with sparks, smoke and burning electrical equipment. He saw what I was doing and opened his mouth to call me 'damned foolish' or 'bloody daft' but before he could do either of those things a grenade bounced into the alcove and I saw the light in his eyes dim. The floor on which we were standing plunged downwards as the two meter section of the deck dropped onto the rails below with a sound like anvils colliding. We were both thrown sprawling by the impact. The grenade above us went off with a deafening blast that shook free lubricant from the running gear above in a pattering rain of grease and oil. My skin burned and for a moment I thought I had been caught in the blast. I grabbed for my wounds but found nothing, realising only then that this was the frigid mountain air. Evil looking tendrils of fioslene vapor escaped the hatch to be blown away by the gusting wind. The sound returning to my ringing ears was chopped by the roaring turbofans of landspeeders. The train was above us, shielding us from direct view but it wouldn't do so for long. I grabbed Aranson and tried to help him up but the old battle axe was already leaping to his feet, white hair streaming in the wind. If I lived I was definitely going to find the name of his Rejuvaneticist. Meter high steel rails bounded us on both sides, rusted and brown looking save for where the tops had been scraped clear by the massive wheels. Great ferocrete rail ties kept them spread the four meters that a beast like the Zephyr needed to maintain its stability. Great bursts of snow gouted through the openings as the wind gusted, reminding me uneasily of the decontamination corridors starships used to scour their shuttles clean.

"I guess that removes kidnapping as a motive," Aranson yelled, partially to be heard over the wind, and partially because the grenade had half deafened us both. There was no time to talk about it. I picked up the powerword, trying to quell the sudden queasy knowledge that it was a miracle it hadn't cut me in half during the fall.

"This way!" I called. Running down towards the rear of the train, trying to ignore the way cold stabbed my feet through the stockings as I ran through the thirty centimeters of snow between the rails. Aranson cursed again, and followed, running in an odd sideways gait that let him keep an eye on the hole. After a few feet he stopped and fired a short burst into it at high deflection. The light would mark us out as targets for the land speeders, but it was better than getting caught in a literal shooting gallery if our pursuers dropped down. After a heart stopping thirty seconds, every one of which promised a las bolt between the shoulder blades or a horizontal sleet of bolter shells, I reached the connection between the Motelo Car and the Palladium, one of the dining cars. I lit the power sword again and thrust it up into the steel ribbed rubber concertina that joined the two cars allowing people to walk between them. I squawked and leaped back, colliding with Aranson as the walkway above fell into the tracks, narrowly avoiding crushing me. I knocked him off his feet and we landed in a pile. I hit the ground in such a way that I saw the first enemy soldier drop into the trackway. Aranson rolled to his side, hit the metal rail and opened fire. His first shot hit the man in the chest, the second and third punching into his opaque face mask. I scrambled to my feet and leaped up onto the walkway above, thanking the God Emperor I didn't believe in for the chance construction that gave me hand holds. Aranson followed, throwing the gun up to me and scrambling up as best he could. A bright light flashed below us and Aranson grunted. He pulled up his leg to reveal that his left boot had been blown off, leaving his obviously hand made wollen sock completely unscathed. His left arm was not so lucky, blood was oozing down the length of it in an unsightly red mass. I realized that he had contacted the rail with his bare arm when he rolled, and that it had snap frozen in the few seconds in which he fired. He had freed himself by tearing his own skin off.

"What... is the plan..." he gasped, finally showing some signs that he was the old man I had played Cardinals with. I panted, shivering violently from the cold, my gauzy dress, thoroughly ruined now and to the tune of ten thousand Gelt to boot, was no protection against the icy wind, even protected by the rails. I was trembling, which I knew from Clara's endless carping about hypothermia was a good sign, but it was a terrible time for it.

"We have to..." the door behind me slid open and a pair of soldiers froze for a heartbeat. The fact I was sitting on the deck saved me as in the moment it took them to lower their gun muzzles, I swept the power sword out in a graceless horizontal arc. Blood exploded, steaming into the chill air as I took them both off at the knees, dropping them screaming to the ground. Their lasguns went off as fingers tightened on triggers and I tried a clumsy thrust to finish them off. Aranson shoved me aside and fired a short burst one handed into each man. They both went slack and I pulled myself up off the deck. I knelt beside one of the bodies, gaging at the smell of burnt blood and plasteel and the way my knees sank into the tacky pool of blood that their hearts had pumped from their severed femoral arteries. This one hadn't been decapitated by the las fire and I wrenched his head to the side. It had to be there. I reached into his ear and plucked out a small pinkish crystal that glowed faintly in the chill air.

"What is that, Aranson asked, pulling a grenade from the webbing of a dead man. He bounced it on his palm, pulled the pin, and then tossed it underhanded into the hole we had just exited. There was a muffled thump as the deck seemed to jump beneath me and I heard a scream. It seemed to emanate from the crystal so I thrust it into my ear.

".... Target Two heading down train, possibly with Target One, possibly armed civilian."

"Hawk Beta, Hawk Delta, reroute and provide cover fire, teams one, three and five, sweep downtrain and kill or capture."

I pulled the crystal from my ear. It resisted coming free and I had the unpleasant sense that it had been anchoring itself in me somehow. Clearly Target Two was me and Target One was Hadrian. The crystal was some kind of vox unit that was impervious to whatever jamming they were using.

"Xenotech," Aranson said with a sound of disgust so pure that the old bastard's scholam tutor probably smiled in his grave. For some people rising high in Imperial service promoted a more open minded view, for others, the opposite was true. I wondered what campaigns this old warhorse had fought in, and against what foe. That didn't make what I was about to ask him any more pleasant.

"Put this in," I told him, thrusting the crystal at him. He recoiled slightly, a somewhat comical reaction from a man busily stripping a body of weapons and gear. To his credit the hesitation was momentary wrinkling his nose in disgust he took it and placed it in his ear.

"Can you transmit?" I asked, handing him back his powersword and tearing the gloves from the dead troopers. He nodded his head in affirmation.

"Tell them that Target One is in the rear of the train, heading for the caboose." I couldn’t risk transmitting myself. I didn’t know if they had any women among them, and there was an outside chance they might recognise my voice over their suspiciously clear xenos vox link.

"Target One confirmed, heading rearward with captured weapons, already two cars south of Motello Car," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of words I couldn't hear.

"They are sending men that way, which means they will be running right past us at any second," he cautioned. Two landspeeders, presumably Hawk Beta and Hawk Delta, swept passed outside, close enough that their downdraft rocked the train. Snow blasted up from beneath us like a geyser as they roared onwards. I opened a storage locker in which emergency equipment was kept. Flare guns, environmental suits, first aid and other equipment I couldn't identify lay on shelves in neat magnetized cases. All very useful but none of which we had time for.

"In here," I urged and stepped inside. Aranson followed and I closed the door. Outside I could hear booted feet crash as men moved down train. Aranson pulled the crystal from his ear, shuddering at the same sensation I had felt. Mouthing the words of A Benediction Against Xenos he held it out to me, his finger to his lips in a shhhh gesture then held it in a vox signal, pinky and thumb extended. After a moment I realized that he meant he couldn't be sure it wasn't still transmitting. I nodded and set it down on the deck. I pantomimed grinding my heel on it and he nodded and crushed the thing to powder beneath his remaining boot, an expression of grim satisfaction on his face.

"Was it wise to trap us in here?" he asked in a voice so neutral that there could be no doubt as to his opinion.

"You have played Cardinals with me," I reminded him. He brightened at that.

"Good point," he conceded, then took a las pistol from the pocket of his smoking jacket and passed it to me. I wasn't much better with a pistol than I was with a rifle but it was something. My dress had no pockets so I shoved the gun between my corseted breasts, provoking a snort of amusement from the general. I tossed him the second set of gloves and began to pull on my own. He followed my example, not wasting time with questions.

"I assume you have a cunning plan?" he asked as he used his teeth to tug the cuff of the glove tight.

"I don't know how cunning it is, but we need to wait for the Admiral to..." the train jolted and I heard steel wheels scream on rails as the big locomotive began to shift, gravity fighting the thrust of the electro-prometheum power plants. I felt another surge of relief, Hadrian was still alive and he had managed to get the engine started. There was no time to explain.

"Come on," I told him and flung the door open, a running trooper slammed into it with a crack of breaking bone and a scream of pain. The door rebonded back into me and knocked me sprawling to the floor. Aranson caught the jam, pulled the pin on another grenade and tossed it into the hallway, then slammed the door shut a second before another detonation rocked the now shuddering train. I pulled myself to my feet and struggled to the door, pulling it open and stepping through, two dead soldiers lay in the connecting chamber, the rubber concertina was in tatters which suited my purposes just fine. I stepped over their bloodied bodies, leaving tacky footprints as I flung open the door. Inside I found the gilt instalations which I knew from the schematic at the console held the magnetic couplers. I lit the sword again and thrust it into the housing. Sparks and smoke exploded like a roaring dragon and there was a loud KUCHUNK. The deck launched beneath me as the Montello car began to slide backwards.

It was an unfortunate design feature of the cars that the generators which ran their couplers were located at the back of the cars. I had just decoupled myself from Hadrian's section of the train. I turned and ran, tripping over the bodies in the connector. Aranson foresaw this and caught me around the waist. I struggled free and then sliced the ragged connector away entirely. Arctic wind hammered in but I stepped out and swung myself around to catch the exterior ladder which allowed access to the roof. Cold metal burned my feet but my stolen gloves let me grip the rungs. I pulled myself up and onto the roof of the train, which was now sliding backwards at an imperciptible rate. A great cloud of black smoke billowed back from the engine which was also begining to move with equal inexorable slowness. They had manual brakes on, but without full powerplants it wasn’t enough to stop the train from beginning to slide.

"Run!" I shouted to the general and suited my actions to words, sprinting along the top of the train at full speed. I saw the lights of landspeeders, partially obscured by blowing snow. I would make a magnificent target up here, but there was no help for it now. If I stayed with the Montelo Car and the rest of the train, I was every bit as dead as I would be if the heavy bolters blasted me to gobbets of flesh. A light caught me and I heard engines howl as one of the aircraft spun to follow me, making a wide banking turn out over some firs, downdraft blasting the snow covering away to reveal the blue green needles beneath. The distance was opening fast and as I reached the edge I flung myself across it. Time seemed to slow and then I hit the other side, rolling and rubbing desperately for a handhold. My corset snagged on one of the cargo attachment points and tore, snugging me up as the silk of my gown took the strain. The general landed beside me, rolled to his feet, and scooped me up. My blood was thundering so loud in my ears I couldn't hear what he was saying and the cold bit at me like acid. Sparks exploded around us as the banking landspeeder came side on, it’s door gunner getting the angle. I saw great starburst of flame leaping from the barrel out of the corner of my eye as I was born along. I fumbled vainly for my pistol but it was lost when the corset ripped. I tried to reach the sword to cut our way in but I couldn't make my hands work. I could feel the roof flexing under the hammering impacts like the skin of a drum. Fragments of casings danced around us like fireflies, each one razor sharp and deadly. Aranson carried me five feet to an armor crys skylight. It exploded into shards and we tumbled through, plummeting back into the train.

I was screaming when I hit the water water with a splash that knocked the wind out of me and slapped my face and front hard. Kicking out in blind panic, I broached and then submerged completely, scrambing to get my feet under me. The water was still warm, a better heat sink than the air, and carried the faint scent of cloroclean. After a second I managed to put my feet down the water just under shoulder height. I was in the pool car, a place I had seen but not used thus far on the journey. I waded to the shore, incase they landspeeder was good enough to hover over the shattered skylight, and pulled myself up onto the faux sand shore. Tropical plants waved crazily around me in the inrushing draft and colorful cloth umbrellas stretched and bobbed. I forced myself to the rear window and looked out. The tail end of the train was moving down the hill faster than a man could run, and gaining momentum by the second. I watched for long moments until the car vanished into the swirling snow. With a triumphant snort I turned and too my horror saw General Aranson laying face down in the artificially clear blue water, a great cloud of blood spreading out from around him.

"No, no!" I shouted and staggered across to him, dragging him to the shore. I don't know what I expected to do for him but I need not have bothered. His back and spine were a ruin, his rib cage broken open by the heavy bolter rounds that had killed him as he shielded me from the barrage. His right leg was gone at the knee, nowhere to be seen. The patched woolen sock I had seen earlier was still on his left foot, looking lonely and unbearably sad. The old man's face held no life, and no peace, merely the rictus of pain and effort he had been wearing when the bolts killed him. I swallowed a lump in my throat. He was an old soldier trying to enjoy a few years of peace but, like so many, he had learned that in this age of darkness there was only war. I closed his eyes as a sob wracked my chest.

"Freeze," a voice from behind me called, the tell tale distortion of the troopers face gear echoing in the empty room.

"Do exactly as I say and you will live," he commanded and I felt the barrel of a las gun against my back. I was angry, and scared, my mouth tasted like bile and my stomach churned with fear and hate. I felt the universe roar all around me, the pounding in my ears so loud I couldn't understand why it didn't shake the train to pieces.

"Have it your way bi..."

"Stop." The word wasn't loud, but when it left my throat it had an absolute finality that made the rest of the chaotic setting seem like a dream. I closed the general's eyes and stood up, wiping the blood onto my ruined dress. The 'sand' slid off my body after a few moments, proof that it was much higher tech than the simple bodies of deceased diatoms. I turned to face the soldier who still had his gun leveled at me. His eyes were wild and a rhyme of cold frost was spreading across the plasteel housing of the weapon.

"Drop the weapon," I instructed him, and his hands flexed spasmodically. The las gun fell to the sand, landing barrel first and standing upright for a second before gravity bore it down. I could see the veins in the soldier's neck throbbing like an opera conductor's baton. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. I regarded him levely and his hands lifted to either side of his head. The anger in his eyes a moment before had been replaced by pure terror. Spittle hung from his lip but it was already beginning to freeze from the hoar frost spreading over his face. The muscles in his arms bunched. The Montelo Car had slid far enough down the track that I was out of range of the psy baffle. My mind was free again.

"Do it," I commanded and his arms wrenched violently sideways. The sharp crack as he broke his own neck echoed around the now silent room.

Lieutenant General Julius Paleologus Aranson led the defense of Zoja at the Heraclean Gate after the collapse at Rafel. Outnumbered and outgunned, his forces held their position for two hundred and seventy two days and is credited with saving Imperial forces in that sector from encirclement and complete destruction. When the relief force from Battlefleet Amorgos arrived, less than one defender in ten was still alive and none were unwounded. May the God Emperor welcome him to his table, if the God Emperor does indeed do such things.

There weren't enough of us to form squads, and the staff were likely to shoot each other rather than the enemy. I cautioned Gaspard to give the two most trustworthy lads autoguns, and stationed them on the far car with the blast hole, giving them ample cover and four meters of space a soldier would need to jump to cross. I had the frame of mind to tell them if anything vaguely round was thrown at them, they were to throw it back, and quickly.

With that primer completed, I requisitioned Lord Gaspard, Junior Officer Jonas, and his deputy he introduced as Lucius. I had let Lord Gaspard believe it was his idea, and gave him a wide birth with his double barrel. I was unsure of how effective he might be without tall grass and a pair of hounds, but I could ascertain he was familiar enough with the weapon not to be unsafe due to lack of handling. I ordered the officers to guard our flanks, and I took the left while Gaspard swept right.

"Bloody cold's unbearable." Lucius remarked, before Jonas smacked the back of his head, placing a finger against his own lips.

The noise, while unwelcome, did not give our positions away. It was clear as I suspected, save for the corpses of the passengers. The dining car has kept only a shadow of its former dignity, the last stretch of it looking relatively the same as it had hours previously, save for a few tossed items and a lack of lighting. I informed them the suites would be next, and to watch out for civilians. We kept the same pattern, and luckily, other than finding a frightened couple huddled in a suite, as well as a rich merchant who was miraculously still asleep in his bed, there was no incident. I was beginning to think the assassins had fled the scene, until we reached the car just outside the engine room.

"Negie hall" Jonas whispered to me as we prepared ourselves for entry. A strange name for a car. Evidently it was an art exhibit, and a bidding room for special occasions. I'd heard of it, and had planned on visiting it as Emmaline had a taste for Maxime Étienne's Neoclassical pieces. I checked the prime on my laspistol, however before I could enter, Jonas had apparently regained a spine. He bade me to wait with a gesture of his hand, hoisted the lascarbine he had taken from one of the assassin's I had killed, choosing it in lieu of his laspistol, and he opened the door without much preamble. I was close enough to the doorway to see the mirror behind the small amasec bar on the right side of the car, watching as the head of a man in a facemask turned. I couldn't even cry out before Jonas, slack jawed, was eviscerated by lasgun fire. He had barely raised his weapon, not even able to form the words to call for their disarmament. Lord Gaspard gave a rousing gasp at the sudden turn of events, and the now-deceased Junior Officer's deputy screamed, though to his credit he shoved his hand out of the door and fired wildly.

I activated the rune of my pallasch and with a flourish of my blade, cut the door off its hinges. Gaspard had decided to make his own entrance, firing his large caliber rifle point blank into the wall between car, granting himself a more comfortable position to shoot. I only spared him a glance, the mirror ever in my vision, now the figures of two men reflected on its surface. I thumbed the burst-fire on my laspistol, having modified it for occasions that might call for it, and fired a volley at the mirror. Lasgun missiles were not entirely lasers, but they were mostly. A tech-priest of the mechanicus could give a three hour lecture on the minutia of it, but I was very aware a reflective surface would hold longer than a non-reflective one, and it could even bounce a lasbolt off itself before shattering. Unfortunately for the assassins, two of the missile ricocheted and burned into them. Their protective gear kept them alive, but it was enough for me to take as an opportunity to advance.

With a quick prayer for Emmaline and victory, I sprang through the gaping doorway. Evidently one of the- now four assailants I could see- had deigned to advance as well. I admit if it wasn't for his surprise, he would have gotten me, but we had ended up face to face, and my sword was already out. He pivoted and leaped to my left, turning his gun at me. But I cut him in two bloody pieces with a back cut of my sword, his lascarbine firing off three shots from his spasmed finger before hitting the floor. Raising my laspistol, I fired at the two assassin's now recovering from the ricochet, striking into their collarbones and joints, knowing my laspistol would be ineffective against their armored chests. The fourth assassin raised up, having my dead to rights, but to my surprise and good fortune, Gaspard was not a bad shot. His next two slugs caused the cloaked assailant's chest to erupt in blood and gore, a gurgle escaping his masked face as he fell to the floor, his lascarbine firing off, slicing through the small collection of priceless paintings still on the walls during downtime hours.

I decided not to leave it to chance, and charged the two wounded men, eviscerating them with three swift sweeps of the sword.

The deputy had stopped panicking by that point, but still held himself from entering the room. I knelt down, trying to find any identifying marks on the men, but I realized I would have to strip them to nothing to be certain, and we needed to get the train moving. With a sigh, I raised myself up.

"Poor lad." Lord Gaspard lamented, and I realized he truly was a trite remorseful. Maybe he was not such a snob, after all.

"Lucius, once we enter the engine room, I need you to return to the head of the train and inform Agiad." I remarked, thumbing the activation rune so the blood dissipated into nothingness. "Escort him back here. Guard him with your life."

The engine noise increased markedly as Hadrian’s mission to the engine room bore fruit. The landspeeders had backed off as the storm began to spill over the pass, bringing an opaque white cloud of ice and snow down the far side of the mountain. The Zephyr limped into its protective shadow like an ancient ship taking refuge in the fog. The retreat of the aircraft was interesting, bespeaking an instinct for self preservation that one didn’t expect of cultists. With the complete white out beyond the armorcrys windows I was able to relax enough to wash and change into a new outfit, thankfully saved by the passenger cabins being forward of the doomed Montello Car. I was dressed now in a dark buff bodyglove built for skiing, over which I wore a jacket and a pencil skirt along with knee high boots of supple gray leather, the most pragmatic of the footwear I had packed. The surviving passengers were in a predictable panic, some screaming at the staff, others almost catatonic with fear. Under the circumstances the staff were doing a commendable job of restoring order, circulating with kaf, amasec and hot food. They seemed to have some perverse attachment to the notion that ‘the Amalethea Zephyr always ran on time’ into which they were displacing all the fear and terror of the last few hours. The bodies, nearly a score of passengers and staff along with a half dozen of the attackers, were being stored in the Alroblom Car, a ball room which had been the site of the original bombing, its sides blown open to the freezing air by the bombing. This made it an ideal temporary morgue for the preservation of the bodies. It didn’t escape me that Hadrian and I would have been there when it went off, if we hadn’t been otherwise occupied. It said something about our enemies that they would not only attempt such a bombing but that they would follow it up with an assault to make sure the job was done.

“And there is nothing to be done about the vox?” I asked the ancient tech priest before me. He was a hunched thing, with several pipes extending from his back. Periodically they belched little puffs of smoke into the air. I was seated at a table in the dining car into which most of the passengers had been gathered. Train staff with autoguns from their weapons lockers stood at the doors, looking very nervous. I wondered what the chances were of one of them accidentally letting off a burst that would take out half the great and the good of the planet. Hadrian had apparently made enough of an impression on the crowd that my table remained an island free of protesting passengers, though anyone who had seen me before I changed, covered in blood and gore, might reasonably have wanted to avoid me. Or perhaps the las carbine and tactical harness on the table dissuaded them.

“Zzzzz… nothing,” the techpriest burbled from beneath his hood. “Zzzzz tech sacrilege was extensives, zzzpares and back ups… zzzz also dezzztroyed.” The metallic burr in his voice set my teeth on edge and not for the first time I wished Lazarus was here to take care of this sort of thing. The enemy infiltrators, probably more of Vidar’s entourage, had cut our communications before the rest of the attack began. That seemed reckless, a lot of moving parts for an assassination attempt, any one of which might have tipped us off in advance. One of the junior engineers was missing, and I had no doubt that his body had been thrown from the train to allow a saboteur to take his place. The thought that there were infiltrators still aboard couldn’t be ruled out, but the crew were on alert for unfamiliar faces and the offending Ident had been blocked from access to any of the internal doors.

“Zzzze will have to take on… zzzzpares at zzz nextz zzzztop,” the Magos continued. I wondered at the fact that the old tech priest thought that the Zephyr would continue beyond the town of Trierea on the far side of the pass. Such was the mentality of train people I supposed. There was a slight shift in my stomach as we crested the pass. The internal speakers played a bar of the crescendo of The March of the Primarchs and a cultured voice informed us that we had crested the mountain. Ordinarily that would be the high point of the Ascension Ball but today it was met only with a slight muting in the buzz of conversation.

“How long do you expect this storm will last Magos?” I asked as I watched the sleet of ice whip past outside.

“Zzzzt one zero day zzz at least,” the Magos buzzed. I arched an eyebrow.

“Ten days? That is quite a storm isn’t it,” I asked.

“Zzzzapologies, one zero is to say zzzz two days,” the Magos clacked, somehow conveying exasperation with those uninitiated into his world of mechanical mystery. That would take them almost to Trierea at their current rate of travel. I paused as an unpleasant thought occurred to me.

“Are there any safeguards in place against the track being cut, bridges taken out?” I asked, suddenly assailed by the idea of the train plunging into some canyon and taking us all with it.

“Zzzimpossible,” the Magos assured me, “conductivity tezzzzts would indicate if zzzzhe line zzinterity wazzz compromised.”

That made me feel somewhat better, although I had a pervading sense that our unknown adversary had far from given up. An attack like this bespoke considerable resources and intelligence. My fingers played with the plex portraits of Hadrian and myself that I had taken from the dead. Now that I had the leisure to go back over my hairstyles in detail, I concluded that they had been taken during the Midsummer Festival, in which many of the local gentry and peasants had been invited to Hadrian’s estate for a fair, as was the custom of large landowners on Pacitus. That did nothing to narrow down who was after us, as anyone could have taken the picts, maybe even without knowing what they were for.

Not for the first time I wished I had controlled myself and taken my attacker alive. It was possible I could have taken information from his mind. For a guilty moment I considered interrogating a shade but Hadrian would not approve and it was vanishingly unlikely I could find anyone else on the train to help with the ritual. As if summoned by the idea of using warpcraft Hadrian appeared, looking somewhat disheveled by battle but alive and uninjured. There was a murmur from the crowd as he did so. Evidently ‘the Admiral’s’ reputation had spread among the passengers and staff. Several men looked disgruntled and several women looked alarmingly speculative. The staff seemed to have an attitude of grateful subservience, pleased to have a military man and a voice of leadership in this crisis. I let out a sigh of relief to see him alive and unharmed.

“Anyone who is injured should report to the medicae,” he called out, though I highly doubted any of these rich passengers was concealing a wound out of sheer stiff upper lip.

“Otherwise the Conducter wishes you to return to your cabins, dinner will be served at the usual time and the staff has much to do,” he concluded. The staff began to usher the passengers back into their cars and within a few minutes we had the dining car to ourselves. Hadrian strode over to me and I stood to meet his embrace, wrapping my arms around him for long seconds. At last we separated and he sat, pouring himself a cup of recaf from the carafe on the table.

“Any idea who they are?” he asked. I flexed my fingers then lifted a dataslate with a series of shots of the mercenary who had broken his own neck. He had been stripped naked and looked grotesquely like a nudist at a beach.

“No cult marks,” I noted, not that it proved much, many cultists were smart enough not to mark themselves for destruction no matter how much the act might please their patron deity.

“Some tattoos, surgically removed,” I indicated spots of slightly scarified skin. I really wished that Selenica was here to give her opinion on that. It was strange how easy it was to become used to working with Hadrian’s team after spending years looking out for myself.

“Obviously military trained, all identically equipped,” I didn’t have any psi active plates but I communicated a mental image of the landspeeders I had seen.

“Millitarum models,” Hadrian responded to my unspoken question, “maybe surplus or stolen.”

“Vox is cut but we should be safe enough for the next little while,” I told him, crossing my arms against a chill that was as much in my mind as in the air.

“What in the name of the Throne is this?” I asked plaintively.

"I suppose the vague epitath of 'the great enemy' does not suffice." I muttered, allowing myself a brief moment of frustration to take hold before I returned to my steely resolve. It was entirely selfish, petulant even, but I could not help but feel vexed at the reality my vacation and nominal honeymoon was being interrupted by this. Throne help me, I felt it. However, it gave me a cold anger that granted me clarity and resolve, and I thanked the Emperor he could turn my provincial flaws into a weapon to be harnessed. Emmaline was right, however. It was imperative we needed to find out who was conducting this terror operation I looked around at the assortment of frightened and bemused faces. The assault on the Zephyr had been calculated, and though I could rightly assume it was targeted at Emmaline and more specifically myself, I did begin to consider other possibilities.

Aristocrats, select politicians, industrialists, lobbyists, many of which were likely involved in the Ghorrask Union, a partnership of capitalist interests that sought to overtake the rights of Ghorr mining worlds in system. It had always been a battleground of trade, but after the twelfth black crusade and the subsequent economic and political fallout, the hereditary governors had fallen out of favor or had lost enough revenue to cause a power vacuum. This attack could have been one of three dozen different factions or subfactions trying to incapacitate the competition, as it were. If they were smart, they would have hired a paramilitary group using a non-traceable intermediary. However, that would be the most optimal outcome. Even with my musings, I could not help but believe, and by pragmatism assume, it was an attack on myself.

I removed my jacket, rose from my seat and draped it snugly around Emmaline's shoulders. She gave me a radiant smile, temporarily dispelling the anxiety that permeated between us. "Let's not let it ruin our good time." I joked dryly, and she gave a small chuckle.

"Quite right. Business as usual," she remarked.

"There are only two possibilities." I began, my voice soft so as not to be overheard. "Either they had come after someone else, in which case this is a domestic or local dispute, and in all likelihood it shall cease. Or they attacked because of me, something we must assume, and in which case, we now have a slight advantage." Emmaline tilted her head inquisitively as I continued. "I propose we spring a trap. They are clearly well informed, but let's not allow them to find us in the dark. I say we make a show of ourselves, draw them in, and then capture a handful of them to interrogate."

"Any details as to how, my love?" She responded. As I opened my mouth, I noticed a couple approaching. Lord Varkon and his paramour, the lady Varkon having tragically lost her life in the ensuing explosion. Beyond them, I spied Lord Gaspard nursing an Old-Foiz, and he saluted me with his drink, evidently having changed his opinion of me after the firefight. Admittedly it was mutual. Despite his bluster, he kept his cool and had steady aim under pressure.

"Admiral Deckard," Varkon interjected, adopting a congenial smile to mask his worry. "My compliments to your gallantry, and it does my heart well to see your fiance safe."

"Thank you, my lord. My heart weeps for your wife." I said, with only a hint of sardonicism. A part of me was still unsure on if there had been agents of the shadowy web on the train, and that he had made certain the Lady Varkon had been present during the detonation. His paramour was young, not yet having to rely on rejuvenants to maintain her blossoming charms. She seemed positively out of her element, but placating her patron with a flutter of her lashes.

"That means much coming from a man of your honor. I merely come to inquire, what is your next destination?"

I hid a snort, sharing a glance with Emmaline. He wished to be protected, ironically being out of the loop that my presence was likely the most dangerous part of the trip. However, I did answer honestly.

"Why, Idalium, my lord. Just as everyone else."

The storm covered us almost all the way to Idalium, the howling sleet of snow and ice only abating as we ran slowly down into the alpine valley that formed a grove on the back side of the pass. Despite my misgivings, and the Chief Magos’ constant attention to his arcane machinery, there were no interruptions in the line. I had to suppose that the assassins had gambled everything they had on the bombing and landspeeder assault and were not paranoid enough to go for triple redundancy. I wasn’t entirely sure if that was a comfort or not. A bombing and a follow up assault team in an isolated mountain pass probably seemed more than enough to eliminate two individuals, even if one of them was an inquisitor.

By the time we reached the station, the walls of the valley had cut the snow to gentle flakes that might have been quite romantic under the right circumstances. The sputtering bullet riddled train that pulled in didn’t exactly project that image. The shocked reaction of the locals proved that no news had reached them, not a surprising outcome given that our vox units had been thoroughly sabotaged during the attack and that personal units had trouble penetrating the mountain valley. Still it didn’t take long for the local probators and medicare personnel to arrive. They looked completely overwhelmed by the situation, as well the might be. Idalim was a tiny settlement by Imperial standards, less than a hundred thousand people in a city of terraced half timbered homes centered around the volcanic head waters of the Dranabse river. There was some local industry, mostly logging for specialty timber, but the primary employer was tourism. It was a getaway spot for those wealthy Pacitians who enjoyed hot springs, as well as ski getaways and other alpine pursuits. It also boasted a rather prestigious university that was renowned for its courses of rhetoric. That was immediately apparent from the numerous ornately carved porticos under which students whose affiliations were proclaimed by colorful sashes worn atop their black robes. They declaimed at each other in practiced oratorical tones, debating this and that point of logic, history, or law.

If Hadrian had arrived at any plan he had not yet shared it with me when we stepped off the train and into the crowd of milling emergency workers. The wounded had been triaged and those with the most severe injuries were being loaded into heavy ground cars for transportation to the medicae facility. As discussed I left Hadrian to talk matters over with the rather overwhelmed looking Castellian and walked the two blocks to the local Astropathicus Annex. I hired an astropath and dictated several coded messages that would be delivered to Agesilaea, then arranged for banking transfers from several well concealed accounts. The Astropathicus balked at providing me credit on the basis of these transfers until I produced my adept rosette. That triggered an appropriate bowing and scraping reflex and before the hour was out I had several credit bars, all but untraceable behind the byzantine procedures of the Guild Astrotelepathicus. Worryingly I received no reply from Clara and the rest of the staff. Astropathic communications were occasionally unreliable but over such a short distance there should be no difficulty in getting through. I left instructions that I was to be voxed if any reply came through and returned to Hadrian who had by now extracteated himself from the local red tape.

“Any word?” he asked, though he must have known there wasn’t, I would certainly have voxed him if there had been any update.

“None,” I replied, “I tried the vox net as well but my calls are all being marked as undeliverable.” Hadrian frowned at this news, for one or the other system to be glitchy might have been understandable but for both to be out was troubling.

“We will have to assume we are on our own for now,” he decided as we headed through the streets towards the local hotel.

“Should we send word off world, contact the Ordos?” I suggested. Hadrian shook his head.

“What would I report, that someone tried to kill me?” he asked, his tone wry.

“Why Inquisitor, if only there were some crack investigator we could get to look into that,” he wheezed in a sepulchral voice that was meant to be an imitation of the Grand Master. I had met the old monster once and he wasn’t exactly the sort I was comfortable making jokes about, but it did make me grin in a grim kind of way.

“I suppose there is that,” I agreed. My vox beeped and I drew the little ivory unit from my purse and answered.
“Mademoiselle, this is Kyrgan from the Astropathicus…”

“Yes, has there been any reply to my messages?” I asked impatiently. Kyrgan had been the secretary I had arranged credit with, an officious but effective man with a sallow unhealthy complexion. He had a Gudranite accent that was clearly put on to make him sound sophisticated, a piece of conwork that I found professionally endearing if a little inept.

“No… I’m afraid… the banks you contacted have all sent me inquiries. They stated that your accounts have been frozen due to internal audits,” he continued.

“This is new since I made the withdrawals?” I asked.

“Yes ma’am, i'm not a moneylender but I suspect they were flagged and frozen because you accessed them,” he added a trifle apologetically.

“I see. You will tell them nothing other than I asked for credit and you denied it,” I instructed him. “You do not know where I am or what my plans were after I left the annex.”

“Yes Mademoiselle, is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked hopefully. I wondered if he was naturally helpful or if he were still in awe of the rosette I had flashed.

“No, nothing. May the Emperor keep you,” I replied and terminated the call.

“Trouble?” Hadrian asked.

“Someone is burning my accounts as fast as I can access them, whatever is happening, I think it is just getting started.”

"Luckily I came prepared." I said, producing my data-slate, unlocking its system with a flick of my thumb. "Well, partially prepared. I had not foreseen I would need this for an entire trip, but I did not want to be caught flat footed in case there was a problem with our accounts."

"Contingencies of contingencies." Emmaline declared with warm humor. "How much is it? Can we afford to make ourselves the target you wanted?"

I showed her the number. "For a limited time, yes. But we we'll still need to be strategic on how we use the funds. Luckily the trip itself was already paid for." The acquisition of the money to a domestic handheld was easy, but it wasn't a lack of planning that made it limited. A data-slate could only hold so much credit without needed to be connected to an account, and the only way to bypass that was to announce my status as an Inquisitor. I removed my vox, and began to redirect its next frequency.

"Hadrian," she said quietly, placing a hand on my arm. I gave her a look, and she laughed. I knew she was questioning my devotion to the trip. Throne damned me, I was not about to let a paramilitary group with the skill of underhive gangers ruin our vacation. "Redirection?" She asked to change the subject, indicating my vox, her acumen in reading my thoughts as astute as ever. I gave her a brief wink in answer before activating it.

"Yes, I would like to reserve a room. Mhm, for two. Rear Admiral Blasius Deckard. No account, but I have a domestic docket number #041325. ... Thank you." I cleared my throat, and made reservations for two other locations in extreme opposite ends of the city. Due to my status as 'admiral' I also received a discount and half of the funds returned if I ended up changing my mind. Normally I would not be picky on that end, but I found myself without accounts evidently and so I worked with what I had. We took a cab to the nearest motel, albeit a rather suped up location trying desperately to appeal to the tourists who at least wished to appear as if they lived by a certain means. We arrived and changed into a more nondescript garb, fitting the cold weather. At that, we went on a small shopping spree, much to my lover's delight. I allowed her to pick the most ostentatious and flattering garb she could find. We needed to be loud and flamboyant, her effervescent side rearing its greedy head, much like when I first met her. It was almost like the honeymoon never stopped. In an instance of accismus, she almost coyly rejected a pair of dazzling bangles, but they were a good price and I gave my go-ahead, for her delectation.

With our shopping completed, we went back to the motel and ordered in, knowing we had a long night of planning ahead of us. I also needed to make a few calls to guarantee not only an appearance at the Charity Gala the following day, but to set up my plan with the local arbites. It was after a good meal and a small discussion on how manner that we collapsed onto the bed to find some much needed rest.

It was going to be a hell of a day tomorrow.

I can't say that I slept well. I think it was being blocked by the psy baffler. I kept waking consumed by an urge to set wards or draw cards or some other psychic activity that would reassure me that my powers were still available to me. My studies in recent months had taught me some new techniques but I doubted Hadrian would react well to waking to find runes daubed in blood on the window and door frames, plus where would I get snake bile at this time of night. The attack on the train had been well organized and it was only by chance we hadn't been caught in the bombing of the ball room. In a way the fact our finances were being cut off was more worrying: any warlord could hire some mercs, even well trained ones, but the ability to penetrate Imperial banking systems was another thing altogether. Who was gunning for us? There were any number of people who would target an Inquisitor on principle of course, chaos cultists were obvious but there were other contenders: wealthy merchants trying to cover up a secret deal, nobles following some murky political logic, and of course other Inquisitors. It often surprises outsiders that the Inquisition is riven with factions. Could some rabid recongregator be gunning for Hadrian? It seemed unlikely to me. He was a stubborn man but he wasn't particularly active in the internal politics of the Inquisition, wasn't doctrinal in the sense that someone like Xandra Melitus, or Calliope Carth was. I was still turning it over when I finally fell asleep.

The Charity Gala was the social jewel in Idalim's social calendar. Although it was smaller than many events I had attended before I had crossed Hadrian's path it was surprisingly grand. It was held in the Coloviam, which had begun life as a vast theatre complex in the center of town, designed for the great councils of Imperial Law which had been held here two hundred and fifty years ago. That conference had lasted ninety nine years and codified Imperial Law across half the sector. I had heard about it in passing at various times but as my interest in Imperial laws was largely in bending them. I had to admit that the soaring arches and aerial grottos, elaborate scenes made of millions of tiles had been arranged in vast overhead domes, were impressive. They had been placed in such a way that the arial scenes appeared to be three dimensional from the ground. I suspected it might lead to rather a lot of cricks in the neck after a while though. The scenes were illuminated by soft underlighting and were largely allegorical, depicting this or that point of law. Some scenes, the Emperor declaring the Great Crusade, The Conclave at Mount Amaltha, were familiar, others were as alien to me as a Catachan fairy tale, though somewhat less gruesome. Nor was the remarkable architecture the only decoration the locals were employing. A series of raised platforms had been constructed on the stone floors. Those floors had then been flooded to create a series of artificial islands and canals, connected by hand carved bridges of staggering intricacy. Flower petals, had been scattered liberally over the water, white and blue mountain blossom and frost poppy, their soft perfume wafting up. Carved planters had been scattered liberally to bring perfectly sculpted alpine trees, pines and winter birch into Coloviam and lawns of wintergreen moss had been painstakingly installed around adelvice and other alpine blossoms. They wouldn't be able to survive inside, it was far too warm and anyway there was no sunlight, but they would live long enough for the gala. It struck me as a little ironic that millions of credits were being spent on a charity gala that could go to something like, oh I don't know, charity but Imperial society had a huge strategic surplus of dramatic irony. Perhaps the pockets of those attending were deep enough that it was a good investment, one never knew.

I arrived with Hadrian at dusk coming in by private car rather than the red carpet. Hadrian wanted it to be known that Admiral Deckard was here but he didn't want pictures of him to be splashed all over the local news outlets. Live orchestras played on small boats anchored in the artificial canals and there was a buzz of conversation from well dressed guests. Servitors bearing alabaster masks moved through the crowd dispensing drinks and finger food with mechanical solemnity. I had dressed in a gown of green silk gathered around my waist with a girdle of gold clasped emeralds. The plunging neckline displayed considerable flesh even though its real purpose was to allow me to reach a compact las snub that I had taped just below my bust where the curve of the fabric would conceal it. I wore the jeweled bangles I had bought and a series of foot long hair pins which had been arranged to create a kind of halo around my head. We had stopped short of bringing my rune staff, recovered with the rest of our weapons from the train safe, on the grounds that there might be some among the glitterati who recognized it for what it was. Fortunately Hadrian’s naval persona allowed him to carry a sword openly, though I suspect his was far more practical than the glittering toys various other men wore.

Would our mysterious assailants make another attempt on us? There were a number of discrete security men present but Hadrian had gone to some lengths to make sure this was the only location that anyone could be absolutely sure we would be at. I resisted the urge to stretch out with my mind, I didn’t want to appear too paranoid on the off chance our opponents had psykers of their own. That didn’t seem likely, if they had such resources it would have made sense to use them in the train attack, but Hadrian didn’t want to take any chances. It might rather spoil the mood if I got carried away and turned all the water to blood with a psychic backlash, which I supposed was a reasonable concern.